Pretence
by camnz
Summary: Marriage Law fic. Normalcy was an unrealistic ambition when everyone must return to Hogwarts for their final year after the war. The pretence impossible to continue as all are called on to save the wizarding world - yet again, by law, this time.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The cigarette sat between Hermione's fingers, the smoke carried away by the air currents as muggles past by, most of them giving her dirty looks.

"You shouldn't do that. It's bad for your health," one man in a beige trench coat said like she'd never heard that before.

"Uh huh," she replied, taking another drag and looking down at her feet as she leaned against the stone exterior wall of King's Cross station. "Just consider yourself lucky I showered," she mumbled to no one in particular.

She wasn't sure she was ready to do this, but she had to, ready to return. The last couple of months, she'd sat in her living room, watching TV and eating ice cream—and smoked. She'd picked up the habit accidentally at a pub one night, and that had been that. Perversely, she liked it.

It had been after she'd returned her parents to Australia, where they had loved their life inordinately. It was the kind thing to do for everyone involved. While the forgetting spell on them had been removed, the removal hadn't been entirely successful. They forgot her—every time she left the room. It all just got a bit ridiculous after a while, but war reparations, Malfoy money mostly, had paid off the mortgage on the house so it was hers now. So she could sit in it forever and eat ice cream.

Except now it was time to go back and do their final year. Mandated it had turned out.

Another drag and she dropped the cigarette and ground down on it with her foot until its innards spilled out. A deep sigh escaped her and she walked into the main concourse with its bright show signs, sandwich places and magazine shops displaying every muggle celebrity there was.

Muggles hurried, rushing past her as she slowly made her way to platform nine. It was last calls for a train to Glasgow and for a moment Hermione wondered if she should just hop on it, but they would find her if she did.

Like a ghost, she walked through the wall and emerged on the other side of London, the one she'd been avoiding as much as possible. Scared first years stood with their parents, scared older students stood alone. A few were chatting in groups, but it was subdued in comparison to other years—normal years.

Familiar faces stood around her, but no one approached, except Neville. She forbid herself from thinking of the faces that weren't there.

"Hey, Hermione," Neville said. His eyes were caught by her neon yellow anorak.

"Like my jacket."

"Won't get lost with that on, will you? We'll always know where you are."

"Yep," she said and noticed a hush descend across the platform. "Harry?" she asked.

Neville nodded.

Turning, Hermione watched him approach. Ron behind him. People stopped and stared. It was common. They had been doing it throughout the war and it hadn't really stopped since.

"Hey," Hermione said as they arrived by her and Neville.

"Alright, Mione?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

"How'd your war account go?" Harry asked. The war accounts were still going on, requiring people to come to the Wizengamot and recount their whole experiences from the war. They'd all been required to do it under the influence of Veritas serum. Hers had taken two days, and her account had been broadcast to anyone who wanted to listen. Harry's had taken longer. The whole country had been listening in, discussing and debating the things he'd revealed. There was a particularly fierce discussion about the destruction of the Elder wand, many feeling it hadn't been his right to make that decision.

"Ginny's here," Ron said and Hermione looked over to spot the red-haired girl approach with her arms tightly crossed to her chest. "Mum and Dad must have brought her. She hasn't stopped crying all summer. Like, never stops. They had to get people in to see to her."

Harry didn't look over, Hermione noted. Their relationship had faltered and failed quite a while ago, and it never recovered.

As they watched, Ginny was absorbed into her group of friends and out of sight.

The large engine of the locomotive shuddered and groaned, building up heat to carry them away to Hogwarts. For Hermione, it felt like a step back into the past, but one couldn't step back. They couldn't just go back and simply pick up where they'd left off—like nothing had ever happened.

"Although, I suppose me and Ginny are in the same year this year," Ron said as if he found the idea disturbing. "Think we'll have to share classes?"

"Probably," Harry said, clearly bored as he yawned.

"Nothing quite makes you feel like a failure like your younger sister catching up with you."

"Hey, we won the bloody war," Neville said with a surprising degree of anger.

"Okay, Neville, calm down. No one is saying we didn't," Ron replied.

A profound hush descended on the platform and they all looked over to see Malfoy appearing. Blond as always, wearing black, as always. His mouth drawn so tight it looked like a line across his face.

"Well, that git made it," Ron said grouchily. "Would have thought they'd locked him away."

"He was sent for re-education, apparently," Neville said.

This was news to Hermione, but then she hadn't paid any attention to what had been happening in the wizarding world. Instead, she had spent her time watching half-naked people on an island turning on each other, figuring it was more or less the same thing.

No one approached Malfoy. He stood alone on the platform. Persona non grata, it seemed. Even his own crew wouldn't go near him. Whether it was the death eater mark on his arm, or the fact that some probably felt he had betrayed them in some way, she didn't know. No one except the outright loonies was sorry Voldemort was dead. Everyone who had supported him lamented the duress they had been under. But only Draco had that tattoo, and they all knew it. It meant he was the one they all needed to distance them from, the representation of how they were different from him.

"Serves him right," Harry said darkly. "Why the fuck did they ask him to come back?"

Hermione found she didn't actually care about Malfoy and him being there. Whatever problems Malfoy had had with her in the past, and visa versa, she just didn't care.

His neatly trimmed hair shone slightly as he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the train. She wondered if he was being forced to be there just like them. Obviously, he wouldn't choose this, would he? Then again, what option did he have? Be hidden away in his manor for the rest of his life? Perhaps it was better for him to just face the music sooner rather than later. He might have avoided Azkaban, but he wasn't getting off people's opinions.

"His father's out already," Harry said.

"What?" Hermione replied, actually shocked. "Out of Azkaban?"

"He made it a condition of handing over the reparations. They couldn't get into the Malfoy vaults otherwise."

"Those slimy bastards," Ron said. "There's a family that just should have died. Weasel themselves out of everything. Lucius Malfoy will brown nose everyone, trying to convince them he was an innocent victim in all this, just like last time."

"He has too many vested interests to draw on," Harry said a little cryptically. "Too many people lose money with his in prison. That's the real reason he's out."

The true undercurrents in wizard society were laid bare in times like these, and along with everywhere else, money talked. Lofty ideals were for politicians to spout, but the nitty gritty of it, Malfoy's wealth forgave him every sin.

Hermione desperately wanted another cigarette, but she would have to walk all the way out of the station again, and she simply wasn't that committed. Once the train was going, she could shut the door and open the window, sneak one while the train monitor was distracted.

"All aboard," the conductor called and everyone turned to the train, groups of people forming around the steps up at the ends of the carriages.

Neville walked over to get in the queue, but she, Harry and Ron stayed where they were. She really didn't want to do this, but if she was to have a future in the wizarding world, she had to. It was time to bite the bullet, or she would just turn into a mole in her own house, doing nothing but watching crap TV shows and eating unhealthy food. This was necessary, even she knew it, but it didn't mean she wanted to.

"Once more into the breach again, my friends," Harry said.

"That's Shakespeare, Harry. I'm impressed. What have you been doing?"

"I heard it somewhere."

"What?" Ron said with confusion.

"Nothing, Ron," Hermione mumbled. "Muggle stuff."

"Oh."

"Shall we?" Harry suggested, indicating toward the train.

Hermione only grunted in response as she walked toward the shrinking lines to get onto the train.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Standing on the platform, waiting for all the mincing kids to get on the train was aggravating. If he had a choice, this was the last place Draco would choose to be, but it was a condition of his father's release that he return to Hogwarts for his last year. It was a sacrifice, but in the last few years, he'd gotten good at sacrificing. In fact, there had been an endless string of it.

Pushed, prodded, shoved around, and that had been after Voldemort's death. It had been worse before. And then the mortifying public statement where he'd had to recount every slight, base request and mortification for all and sundry. Throughout, he'd shown no emotion, had simply recounted events as he remembered. He was getting good at that too—showing no emotion. In fact, he had gotten pretty good at not having any emotions.

For all that, waiting as bumbling and useless kids trying to organise themselves onto a train was almost beyond his tolerance.

No one spoke to him, even the Slytherins. They were too scared, probably too disgusted. The public recount of his tale had shown just how debasing, how humiliating it had been to have been in Voldemort's inner circle. The mark on his arm was one of shame, and they weren't wrong in thinking so.

Potter and his cronies were down the other side of the platform. Draco had seen them, but his attention hadn't lingered. Potter did have a habit of gloating, as if he had singlehandedly destroyed Voldemort and his rule.

The steps up to the train car were finally clear and Draco stepped on. The train was wild, children running, screaming, laughing. It grated on his nerves. Malfoy Manor was silent as the grave. Lucius was off emptying their vault and ingratiating himself, doing what he had to, he said. Attempts to get Draco to participate had failed. It proved impossible for him to smile and make polite conversation. It wasn't a skill he'd had even before Voldemort.

Taking the handle of a compartment, he shoved the door open. "Out," he barked to the kids in there and they scrambled to escape, leaving the compartment empty in their wake. He was the villain in this tale, the cautionary warning of what happened when one went bad. They were too scared to even abuse him. Adults were not, however. Some felt safe to use him as a target for their dismay and revulsion for everything they'd experienced during the war. Not a child, and not quite a man in their eyes. Perfect for venting on.

It didn't take long for the whistle to blow and the slow, heavy chugs of the engine to start. They were moving out of the station and then out of London. He'd done this journey so many times, but never quite like this. Last time he'd ridden this train, it had felt like an escape from the madness at home. Today, it felt like the other way around.

People walked past, but no one entered his compartment. He was left in peace and that was how he preferred it. Was probably incapable of talking about such things that children did. Who was into whom and how embarrassed they were because some insult had been thrown their way. No one wanted to hear how half the Hogwart's staff had been murdered above his dining room table.

His eyes grew heavy. He hadn't slept much—rarely did, these days. Dreams were uncomfortable. His subconscious was still occupied by the past, it was fair to say, or so the psychologist his mother had engaged had told him. The man had wanted to pry, had wanted to know how he felt. Wanted sorrow and grief—they all did. Draco just couldn't provide the show they were looking for.

The rhythm of the train soothed him, the repeating patterns that required nothing from him. His mother wanted forgiveness, strived for it with everything she did. She'd buy him a pony if he'd ask for it. But he didn't want anything. His father was intent on 'setting this right.' He was on campaign, damage control. They were both consumed with their objectives.

At no point would he allow himself to lie down, even as he had the whole cart to himself, so he sat with his back straight and his eyes closed. Partially he slept, other times, he just listened to the noise and chaos outside his still and quiet compartment.

That noise grew as they got closer. The children changing from their civilian clothes into their robes. It was black outside the windows, pressing on the pane with its hallow hunger. The chaos grew as everyone jostled to get off and into the cool air of the Hogwarts platform.

"First years, this way," Hagrid the oaf cried, just like he did every year. Tiny little bodies drew to the giant man. Well, some things never changed. It was one of the things Draco dreaded, to see how things had changed, those empty spaces and absences where people used to be. Who headed Slytherin house now? He didn't know. Probably Percy Weasley, Draco thought with a slow grin. Gryffindor had probably disowned him after all the slyly evil shit he'd done.

The ugly thestrals were waiting and Draco got his own carriage on the slow ride up to the castle. The forest was full of bugs, the remnants of summer. They would all die off soon as the cold hit.

Repairs to the castle were just about complete. One of the towers stood in ruin, it's jagged edges piercing the sky. As for the rest, the damage had been cleared away and covered—like it had never happened.

"Seventh years," Professor McGonagall said loudly, "this way."

"Which seventh years, the old or the new?" someone called.

"Both," she replied with that tart look that perpetually suggested it was a stupid question. Turning, she led them away from the great hall, to another where they had one had ballroom dancing lessons.

Quietly, everyone stood around and waited, unsure why they were being led away from everyone else.

McGonagall turned and surveyed the half crescent of students standing around her. "By degree, we are doing things differently this year. This exclusively pertains to the seventh years."

"So the Ministry is interfering in Hogwarts business again?" It was Granger with that thin, tight-arsed tone she did.

"In light of how things have been and the distinctions that houses have created, the notion of houses has been abolished for this class.

There was stunned silence. "We've been in our houses for years, abolishing them is hardly going to change those loyalties," someone said. "We are what we are."

"Yes, well, you will not be living in your houses this year. There will be communal dorms, for now. Obviously with double the class size for seventh years, the houses are not capable of fitting everyone, so a decision has been made to for more… communal living. There is more that the Ministry has degreed, but we will discuss that in the days to come."

"So where are we supposed to be living?"

"There are temporary dorms while we are working to build the new rooms required. Girls and boys will be separated. Our head boy and head girl," McGonagall said with a smile to two students, who walked up and presented themselves and their new shiny badges. Two non-descript students from the younger group of seventh years. Not Potter then, Draco thought. "They will take you to the dormitories after supper. Now return to the Great Hall all of you."

A quiet scuffle as everyone left, chatting confusedly and angrily about this change. It did make sense that there wasn't room for two lots of seventh years within the house dorms, but they had both been chucked out. Perhaps the ministry had its reasons. Still, this declaration that house loyalties were to be ignored didn't mean a thing when every single person went to their house's table in the Great Hall.

Draco sat at the very end of his, a good border of clear space around him. He was hungry and the food was good, bowls of it just to himself. Speeches Draco didn't bother listening to, and then the loud murmur as every single person in the hall started talking. There were the odd stragglers like himself that didn't engage. There was bound to be, he supposed. Not everyone came out of this war intact.

Once finished, he wanted to leave and would have if he'd had some notion of where he was sleeping that night, but he had to wait around to be led by the head boy, just like a first year. This had to be some kind of punishment. It didn't make sense otherwise. Why not just extend their house dorms? There weren't that many of them, after all. A squeeze and they could all fit well enough.

An age later, they were finally ready to leave and the boys walked left and the girls walked right. They were off to a part of the castle that was near the greenhouse, well away from their old common rooms.

Pushing heavy wooden doors open the head boy led them into a large room filled with bunk beds.

"What the fuck?" the guy next to Draco said, mirroring his own thoughts. It was Seamus, the Gryffindor. They were all being squeezed into this one hall, like sardines, with no privacy, not space.

"This is what punishment looks like," Draco said quietly and Seamus looked over at him. Punishment took a lot of forms, but this was a new one.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"What new form of hell have they designed for us now?" Ginny said as they walked into the girl's dormitory. "As if what we've suffered isn't enough?"

With a deep sigh, Hermione looked around the spartan hall with bunk beds in four, neat rows.

"Over my dead body am I sleeping here," Pansy said on the other side of the room. "We're not bloody prisoners. Absolutely not."

No one was happy with this arrangement. And who could blame them? Whose idea was this? Special accommodation was being built, they'd been told, which apparently weren't ready. It wasn't as if this double class of seventh years was sudden and unexpected, but this suggested that something was. Something was up, and apparently it had been sprung on the school. McGonagall had eluded to some Ministry decree. A decree was harsh, so nothing about this made sense.

Their trunks had been placed next to the beds, one at the foot and one at the right side, and Hermione found hers.

"You must be my bunkmate," Hannah Abbott said, pushing back her blond hair. "It's just like camp, isn't it? I went to camp one summer…"

Closing her eyes, Hermione tuned out. This was just what she needed, being in the close vicinity of Hannah Abbott.

"Turns out it wasn't poisonous, which was so lucky. Nearly got trampled by a unicorn—in the same day. It was sooo cute, but the hooves hurt, you know? They're not light, spritely creatures, are they? I saw Hagrid was back at the teachers' table this year. Guess he'll be taking up his old post. We half missed him, let me tell you, after the beastly teachers last year. Beastly, isn't that funny? Magical creatures teacher being beastly?"

"You know, I think I need to swap bunks with Eloise Midgeon."

Hannah's eyes widened. "That would be so excellent. We're best friends. I haven't even seen where she is yet, though. Do you know where she is?"

"Nope. Doesn't matter. We'll swap anyway."

Hannah winced. "Oh, there she is, next to Millicent Bulstrode. She farts, apparently."

Biting her lips together, Hermione cursed the despicable position she was in. Would she get in awful trouble if she pulled out her wand and charmed Hannah's voice silent? Yes, she would, but it might be worth it. Or she could put up with the dubious fumes that came from the lovely Millicent.

For the love of Merlin, this set up could only last a day or two, or she actually might harm someone.

Looking over, she saw Ginny sitting at the head of her bed, curled up like a ball. Unless actually moving, that was the position Ginny was normally found in. The war had affected everyone and Ginny's had built up slowly, making her more and more withdrawn. She just disappeared into herself—withdrew from everyone.

Leaving Hannah behind, Hermione walked to the door.

"So what are we going to do about Eloise?" Hannah called behind her, but Hermione ignored her and kept walking. Her mind hurt too much to think about unsolvable dilemmas. In fact, she seemed reticent to make any decisions these days, which was her aftereffect of the damned war.

Right now, she wanted some air and some solitude. As damaged as they all were, the last thing they needed was to be crammed into a hall like sardines without privacy or quiet.

Finding the nearby courtyard, she went out into the dark and squatted down. It was much colder up here at night than in London, but the stars twinkled brightly. It felt like ages since she'd actually seen the stars. It felt ages since… She couldn't finish the sentence, but she felt the feeling. It just felt like it had been ages since she'd been herself.

With a sigh, she sat down on the grass and crossed her legs. Dew seeped into her skirt, but she didn't care. It was better than hearing any more recount of Hannah's summer of whatever other thoughts entered her head.

The walkways around the courtyard were brightly lit, while she couldn't be seen. It was a good place to sit. Maybe they could set some chairs out here and sit when they needed to. There was no place to sit in the dormitory. There was always the Gryffindor common room. Except all those curious little eyes would follow them, wanting to endlessly know more about everything that happened last year. People's curiosity felt like a weight, as did their perceived right to know.

It was curious, though, how the Ministry felt they could just get rid of house loyalties. That wasn't even remotely likely.

The sight of Harry in the walkway to the left caught her attention and she looked over. They hadn't really spent much time together lately. After literally living in each other's pockets for so long, they needed time apart.

The next moment, Harry was kissing a girl. Mandy Brockhurst by the look of it. Hermione hadn't even known Harry was into her. Cho wouldn't be happy. Ginny probably less so, but it was hard to gauge what was going on between Harry and Ginny. They were definitely not together. They weren't even speaking. They weren't fighting either. It was as if they just ignored each other.

Harry wasn't ignoring Mandy, though. He was right down in her throat.

Hermione grimaced. There were some things about Harry she just didn't need to see and this was one of them. They couldn't see her, but it wasn't as if they were hiding either. Anyone from anywhere along the walkways could see them.

For a moment, she thought about using her wand to pour some cold water on them, but fuck it. If Harry wanted to get into Mandy Brockhurst, who was she to object.

With a groan, she got up and walked away, wandering aimlessly around the castle halls. Is this what it felt like to be a ghost? Wandering aimlessly because they had nowhere particularly to go?

As if on homing signal, she ended up in the library, but she didn't feel the excitement she normally did. All the knowledge these books contained. She'd been so greedy for it, wanted it so much. That desire wasn't there now. It was as if her brain had reached its capacity. It didn't want any more.

"Hello, Miss Granger," Mrs. Pince said, looking as thin and frail as always. "It's so good to see you back."

Hermione smiled, feeling ashamed because inside her, she didn't feel happy to be back. If given a choice, she probably wouldn't have come.

"Are you looking for anything in particular tonight?"

Shaking her head, Hermione smiled again. "It's good to see you, Mrs. Pince."

"We were lucky. The library didn't suffer too much damage."

Hermione was sure the woman would have destroyed any Deatheater that tried to come through these doors. She might look frail, but it would be to someone's detriment to underestimate her when it came to protecting her books. "That is fortunately," Hermione said. "Goodnight."

Moving on, Hermione returned to the dormitory. For some reason, her trunk was now underneath a bunk shared with Romilda Vane, who clearly had no interest in Hermione as she sat on the top bunk and chatted.

Hermione lay down on her bed and closed her eyes.

"So apparently, top secret, but there's this rumour that we're being paired off," Romilda said. "Susan Bones' mother works at the Ministry, in a top position, and they've been talking about the seventh year students _intensely_ all summer. Won't tell Susan what they're doing, but it's got something to do with pairs."

Hermione listened intently, her eyebrows drawing together.

"Like potion partners?" the other girl said.

"Something like that, I guess," Romilda continued. "That would be awesome, though. Maybe we'll have small apartments like the heads do. Two bedrooms and a kitchen/lounge. They won't even let us near where they're actually building them. I think we deserve it after all the bother we've been put through."

"Maybe it will be girl, boy, girl, boy," the girl said excitedly.

"Cormac is pretty hot."

"And Harry, of course."

"Blaise Zabini."

"Poor girl who gets stuck with Malfoy. That dark mark of his would probably reach out and hex her as he sleeps. Not to mention what he'll do when he's awake," one of them said with a shudder.

Could this be true? Could the Ministry intend on pairing them off? What for? Searching her mind, she couldn't come up with a logical reason. It would make sense that the Ministry would seek to create new social groups to break down any loyalties that the old structures and beliefs had created. No one wanted the Slytherins sitting by themselves and plotting away. Seemed unlikely. Malfoy had basically been shunned in the Great Hall tonight. Nobody wanted anything to do with him and the nastiness he effectively represented.

Clearly he'd been caught up in this war, but people didn't see that now. Here, he represented the nastiness, the personification of all the awfulness that had been. No one wanted to be reminded of that, or associated with it. Malfoy was going to have a shitty year. They must have threatened his adult licence to perform magic in order to get him back here. Hermione struggled to muster much sympathy. Perhaps exactly like everyone else, she just wanted to forget he existed.

Closing her eyes again, she expected that tomorrow would be a strange day, considering whatever weirdness the Ministry had in store for them. Pairing off? That was just insane, but perhaps with the damage and sensitivities amongst the people here, it made sense that they lived in smaller groups without loyalties to the old ways. She could see the benefit of it, but she didn't like how they were going about it. Perhaps being herded into dormitories was to soften them up so they would be more amenable to whatever this edict was.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The night was dreadful. Sleeping with dozens of guys in a hall wasn't exactly conducive to sleep. Draco managed to create a bubble of silence around him, but he still didn't sleep comfortably with people around him.

He woke early and decided to get dressed before the others. It didn't do to be vulnerable. People were always watching for a point of vulnerability, and he had no intention to oblige, so he got up before everyone else and was out of the room.

The sun was just coming up and there was a biting coolness to the air. The castle was silent. He missed his room down in the Slytherin dungeon under the lake with the placid and soothing green light, but someone else was in it now. There was no room for them in the castle, but the wizarding world appeared not to know what to do with them. Something was up, though. There was something very contrived about all this, a grimness to the faces of the professors.

The Great Hall was empty when he walked in. It was too early for breakfast, but people would start coming before long.

The light outside the stained-glass windows were pinks and oranges, changing all the images the windows depicted.

Sitting down along the Slytherin table, he sighed. He didn't want to be here, but he had no choice. But then he didn't particularly want to be at home either. Intellectually, he knew it was good to be seen by people, so they would, over time, lose their guardedness around him. His father had been adamant this was necessary, but it was a process he didn't want to go through.

After a while of just sitting there, a couple of people walked in. Ravenclaws girls. They looked his way, but didn't say anything as they continued to the Ravenclaw table and sat down, whispering between themselves. They sneakily looked over, which told him they were talking about him.

The color through the stained glass changed as the morning grew brighter. More people turned up and a murmur of conversation settled over the Great Hall. Slytherins came, but they sat nowhere near him. Potter arrived, his arm around some Ravenclaw girl, who was giggling and canoodling. Potter was certainly playing up on his war hero status.

The weasel didn't show up, but Grainger came, her hair tied back a little messier than normal. She looked half asleep. Not the typical bounciness she started the first day of school with. She sat down next to the Patel twin.

The professors gathered at the teacher's table and food appeared. Draco was hungry, but he didn't feel like eating. The post came, but there was nothing for him. This war had made his mother withdrawn, and she had probably disappeared down the Italian coast somewhere. The relationship between his parents wasn't great at the moment. They tried to hide it, but the discomfort they felt around each other was hard to hide. If they would eventually split up, he didn't know. It was hard to say. To his face, though, they pretended all was fine.

After eating his fill, he made his way out of the hall. They had potions scheduled, but Professor McGonagall had just told them to gather in the Divinations tower for an announcement. Whatever they were hiding was about to be revealed—in the Divinations tower of all placed. It was one of the few classrooms that could take quite a lot of people.

A few people were already there, milling in small groups. Draco walked up to the highest tier of the amphitheater and sat down. Hopefully whatever was about to be dropped on them would have them out of sleeping in bunk beds in a hall. Anything was better than that.

The room filled and the nervous anticipation made everyone antsy. A Hufflepuff girl sat down next to him and shifted as close to her friend as she could. She was scared of him. He didn't mind. A contrary part of him had always enjoyed that people were scared, and it hadn't really changed. Now, though, that fear had real consequences. The Ministry was looking for an excuse to do something to him. There were people in there itching to send him to Azkaban, probably for the rest of his life.

"Students," McGonagall cried as she appeared before them and a hush descended. "We have a guest today from the Ministry, who wishes to have a word." The woman had that awkward smile she'd had with Umbridge, but it wasn't Umbridge who appeared, instead some man who pressed his spectacles firmly to the bridge of his nose, a messy pile of papers clutched to his arm.

"Young… people," he said as greeting. "It's lovely to see you all, all those fresh faces." The silence suggested the notion wasn't returned. "I think you are all intelligent enough to know that there have been some troubled times lately." The Hufflepuff girl next to him quickly looked over and pressed closer to her friend.

"My name is Stuart Horsham and I work in the Office of Population Control in the Department of Regulation and Magical Creatures. There have been quite a few deaths, probably more than you were informed of," the man continued. McGonagall looked like she wanted to step in, but held herself back.

"It has been deemed that some direct steps are necessary to avert further… difficulties. The natural course cannot be depended upon."

Draco didn't have a clue what the man was talking about. Why in the hell would an official who deals in magical creatures be here? What did he mean natural course? Were these the people who felt houses should be abolished for the sake of harmony? That didn't even make sense.

"So we call on you to divert us from catastrophe," he said as if it were a rallying cry. "Steps need to be taken quite urgently. Not perhaps permanent steps. It might actually be better if not permanent in that it will result in more… growth."

"Growth?" someone said. "What kind of growth?"

The man cleared his throat, showing how nervous he was. "Well, you see, the fighting has gutted some of our most active segments of society."

Active? The man was saying something without trying to actually say it.

"What Mr. Horsham is trying to say," McGonagall cut in, "is that the war has had a devastating impact on the magical population growth and the segments of society that normally have children at this point have been impacted."

"Children?"

"So to avoid a downward spiral, we are looking to you to fill the gap." He looked proud of himself for finally spitting It out. "Just temporarily, you understand."

"How can children be temporary?" someone asked.

"No, not the children, the marriages."

A collective gasp spread across the room.

The man started rifling through the stack of papers he held. "We've worked through the optimal connections. There are certain genetic weaknesses in segments that we have an opportunity to address."

Opportunity to address. The man made it sound like an exciting experiment.

"Hang on, what do you mean marriages?"

McGonagall was definitely not ready to step in this time.

"Well, yes, there will have to be marriages. With the specific purpose of producing children. We wouldn't be asking this if it wasn't necessary. Let me stress that our calculations have concluded that this is absolutely necessary. Things were slowing even before the war, our birth rate slipping below replacement rate, but with the war, the impact will be pronounced."

"Fuck off," someone yelled.

"The situation is severe enough that the Ministry has determined that anyone who refuses to participate will be expulsed. From wizarding society and a license to continue practicing magic as an adult."

A new hush settled, then a roar of outrage, which seemed to take this man by surprise. McGonagall suggested he leave and she held her hands up to silence everyone.

"This is not something anyone wants, but the Ministry had deemed this of the utmost importance. The continuation of our society is at peril, so these marriages have been devised to… promote population growth."

"What do you mean devised?" Grainger asked. Draco could hear her voice through the crowd. That annoying quality that had grated on his nerves for years now. He was probably never going to forget it.

McGonagall looked pitiful as she wrung her hands together. "Your marriages have already been determined."

A further roar of outrage swelled like a wall of anger.

"I am sorry," McGonagall said. "This has been decreed."

"I won't," someone said.

"Please don't make hasty decisions. As the man said, these marriages can be temporary. What you do within them is entirely up to you. No one can force you to do anything."

"How long?"

"Five years."

The gasps were intermingled with pitiful cries.

Five fucking years. Draco chuckled. Definitely a new way to be punished. Hadn't he said they were being punished?

The Ministry had just lost their minds. Fucking marriages. It was the dumbest notion the Ministry had ever come up with, but then they'd had a few of late.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"They can't do this to us," Parvati said as Professor McGonagall and the Ministry man left the Divinations room. "No, I refuse."

"You heard them," Ginny said. "Do it, or you'll never be a witch."

Hermione sat silently with her arms crossed.

"This is a complete injustice being imposed on us. How dare they?" Parvati continued. "They caused this stupid war—this population bullshit. Why should we fix it? And I'm certainly not sleeping with some guy because they went me to. No way."

Both Harry and Ron appeared in front of them, looking just as shocked as everyone else. "Did you hear that guy?" Ron said. "He's lost his trolley." Curiously, Ron wasn't anywhere near as upset as Parvati. But then Ron didn't necessarily care. There wasn't much he cared about lately. Him and a few of the guys were only really interested in some of the more curious herbs Neville had in his stash.

"Like McGonagall said," Harry added, "no one can really make you do anything you don't want. Physically, I mean."

"That's not the point," Parvati said, her voice rising. "I don't see why I should have to clean up their mess. They can marry each other off. None of this, this fucking was, was our fault. It was theirs. They can fix it."

Getting up, Parvati stormed off.

"Do you think we get to choose who we marry?" Ron asked. Clearly his mind was already deliberating.

"Doesn't this bother you at all, Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Like Harry said, no one can make you do anything you don't want. It would just be nice to get out of that infernal dormitory is all I'm saying. And if I have to, I'd rather bunk with someone I like."

"No, they were quite clear that they already had matches for us."

"Well, that's suckful," Ron said, finally getting somewhat upset about it all. "What if you get paired with someone homely? That's never going to achieve anything with it. There are certain people they should just take out of the running."

"It's only for five years," Harry said, ignoring Ron. "And basically it's only on paper."

"Except we have to live with this person," Ginny said.

"At least for the remainder of the school year," Hermione added. "After that, I'm not sure they can enforce living arrangements. Not really."

"Is this even true, though?" Ron asked. "What they are saying about the population? There's not like there's a shortage of people around. When I went to Diagon Alley the other day, it was chocka."

"Well, we do know that some people have died, don't we, Ron," Ginny said, tears forming in her eyes. Now it was her turn to storm off.

Ron sighed. "She cries at the drop of a hat, these days, and just the merest reminder of Fred and she's off again. Can't stop crying."

"She's traumatized, Ron," Hermione said.

"I get that, _Hermione_ ," he replied. "We all are to some degree or another."

She'd better not be paired with him, Hermione thought, or she would probably be up on murder charges in due course. How had they ever been a couple? What madness had stuck her?

But for her, it was a question of if rather than who. She had an option—to go back to the muggle world and forget all about this. There had been times during the war when that had seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. But she'd fought a damned war for her place in this society.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," she said. Was he having the same doubts as her? He, especially, must have wondered if the wizarding world was worth the fight—and now this indignity imposed on them.

"The Daily Prophet is already reporting it," Terry Boot said.

"Merlin, they move fast," Seamus replied.

"Hey, Terry, let me see that," Harry said and Terry came over. "Front page."

Seamus joined them. "My mam's not going to like this. But then the idea of grandchildren will tickle her pink."

Harry was reading and Hermione quelled that old itched that forced her to know. It was just dribble anyway.

"We need to know if this is true," Harry finally said, giving the paper back to Terry. "What they say about the population."

Hermione smiled. He didn't trust anything that came out of the Ministry. Who could blame him? They'd lied more than they'd told the truth.

"Population statistics will tell you. There's a book in the library."

"Of course there is," Ron said with exasperation."

"Fuck off, Ron," Hermione said, unwilling to deal with his crap.

"Can you have a look?" Harry asked.

Why did she have to go have a look? The book was available for everyone. It wasn't as though she had privileged access to the library. Well, that wasn't strictly true, but you didn't need privileged access to look at the population statistics. "Fine," she said. "After lunch. We've got Potions."

"I'm not going to Potions after that," Ron said. "They can't just drop that on us and just expect us to go to class." Ron's turn to march off, along with the others,

"Gonna hit the Alihotsy. He's been doing it all summer. Him and Dean. Even George sometimes."

"I figured," Hermione said.

"I worry about him, actually."

People who got into that stuff tended to burn out and end up skulking around Knockturn Alley, where even more interesting substances could be procured.

"Probably needs a wife," Hermione said dryly, and Harry found that funny enough to laugh. It wasn't actually funny, but sometimes they just needed to laugh and dark humor provided it when nothing else would.

A creeping sense of the disappear they'd felt back then returned to her, sliding up her spine like cold dread, making her feel nauseous. That fear, although just an echo, had such a clear physical manifestation.

"We better head off," Harry said and they got up and made their way to Potions. The halls were mayhem. The nervousness amongst the students had ratcheted up. "They better not leave us hanging too long, or people are going to go spare."

Susan Bones was literally yelling at someone and further along, Astoria Greengrass was sitting on a step and bawling. Hermione only shook her head. "It really is criminal what they're doing to us."

No one paid attention in class, distracted and talking. Slughorn gave up and retreated to his desk where he read the paper.

"Lets so now," Harry said beside her.

"Go where?"

"The library."

"Oh." She'd forgotten. "Alright, fine," she said packing up her things. Slughorn didn't even look up as they left.

The hall was silent outside from the chaos inside the classroom.

"Do you think they'll actually exclude us from wizarding society?" Harry asked. "Maybe we can start a revolt—say we won't do it."

It was an option. If Harry led it, the Ministry would have to back down.

There was only the odd student in the library and Mrs. Pince smiled as Hermione appeared, returning to her reading.

Down along the back was the Wizarding Society section, and Hermione knew exactly which book she wanted. "This book does update automatically," she said as she pulled down the heavy red leather-clad book. "It should have the latest statistics."

"Then we'll know."

"Not quite. It's all based on calculations for the future. Not just what's happening now."

"But are we diminishing like he said?"

Taking to a table, she opened it and looked. The figures were diminishing somewhat, the population taking a hit in recent years.

"So it's a bit of a decrease, but it doesn't look that bad," Harry said.

"But it isn't just the overall figure that tells the story, Harry. It was where the population is decreasing. The problem isn't now. It's in the future. The next generation and the one after."

Pulling out a parchment, she started doing some calculations. There was more detail further back in the book showing birth rates and deaths by age group. This showed quite clearly that the birth rate over the last three years had plummeted. Having Death eaters running around clearly hadn't been people in the mood. Clearly a bit of a contraceptive.

Hermione massaged the figures in many different ways, but she clearly found the downward spiral the Ministry man had talked about. It wasn't a lie. They were below replacement rate and it would only exasperate, or they would get into territory where they would start developing birth defects and other nasties.

Dropping the pen down, she groaned.

"So it's true," Harry said. "Goddammit." Harry didn't always use such blatant muggle expressions, but it suited the sentiment perfectly.

"The population is getting small, birth defects will start to rise, heralding a swift end."

"What about if we all marry muggles?"

"Is that so different from what's happening now? Besides, it would only slow the end. A bump in the population is needed now, before that inflection point comes. There's no going back after that. The urgency is real."

"Ugh," Harry roared through gritted teeth. "Fuck them for doing this."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, but she knew they were right. If they wanted to save the wizarding world, they had better start getting it on. This drastic and grossly unfair action was necessary, or the wizarding world would peter out to nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

All everyone could talk about was this marriage edict from the Ministry. Some were adamant they would refuse, but Hermione suspected that when it came down to it, it was all hot air. Ginny had withdrawn even more than she had before. Harry was down the throat of some girl—Hermione couldn't keep up. And Ron was off his face.

It felt like insanity surrounded her, and this damned marriage edict was just adding fuel to the fire. Classes were a waste of time, because who cared about advanced charms when you were about to be married off to someone you probably didn't like. The teachers had mostly given up, except for Professor Binns, who hadn't actually noticed something was different.

Absently, Hermione looked around the room at the chatting or glazed over faces killing time until class was over. She wasn't even taking notes. Truthfully, if she listened, she would probably already know what Binns was talking about, but she just couldn't bring herself to caring at the moment. It was unlike her, but it just seemed so pointless.

Truth was that she was disappointed in the magical world—deeply disappointed—and it stripped away that enthusiasm she'd always had. She didn't trust them anymore, and this new imposition was only more proof of that. Intellectually she understood why they were doing it. They'd painted themselves into a corner and like with everything else, it fell on them to fix it.

Like everyone else, she wasn't sure she could take the step of leaving magic and the wizarding world behind. It would be a forever decision. A more promising idea was to change the wizarding world and make it be a little less… feeble. A system had to change from within, didn't it?

Finally class was finished and everyone gathered their things, to all find their way to the Great Hall for lunch—to their respective house tables.

Ron was already sitting there, playing with his fork. Seriously, whatever he was doing was majorly losing him IQ points. Ginny was sitting a few seats down and Hermione slid in next to her. Of all of them, Ginny was the one Hermione worried about. She just didn't seem to be coping. Seeing Harry getting it on with every girl in school couldn't be making things better for her. But equally Hermione knew that telling anyone not to do what they needed to do wasn't the answer. If Harry felt like he needed to be guy-slut number one, who was she to argue.

"How's it going?" Hermione asked. The hall was filling up with people and the food appeared. Ron practically dived for it. Ginny wasn't eating, so Hermione put a sandwich on a plate for her. "Everything feels better with a full belly."

"Student," McGonagall called from the podium, drawing all their attention. Behind her stood that awful man from the Ministry, a new set of scrolls in his arms. "For all seventh years, classes have been cancelled this afternoon, and all female seventh-year students are asked to present themselves in the Dinivations tower."

"Asked?" Ginny said. "Or that requested?"

McGonagall had that uncomfortable face she did when she didn't like something. Clearly she wasn't the greatest fan of this policy, but she had no power to oppose it. Perhaps she understood too that the concern the Ministry had was real. It didn't necessarily mean any babies would result from this charade. Fine, they would be married off, but that meant nothing. These weren't things you could force.

Violent murmurs spread out. Only the females. No directives given to the males. What did that mean? Hermione tried to work it out, but she couldn't. It wasn't as anything about this was predictable, but something was about to be revealed—maybe it was what they'd all been waiting for—the pairing offs.

Their fates were probably about to be revealed.

Even as she tried not to care, there was that nervousness that couldn't be denied. She was about to be paired off with some guy who could be a total pain in the ass for the rest of the year—someone who didn't get that, no, they weren't going to be sleeping together. What if she got paired off with someone unbearable like Cormac had been. Then again, she wasn't above some well-placed and extremely painful hexes.

"I can't take this," Ginny said and rose sharply before storming off, her sandwich untouched. Hermione sighed. Someone like Ginny wasn't able to tolerate a stress like this now, and there were probably other students out there just like her. It was wrong that they were doing this—even if her research in the library told her why it was necessary.

Taking her time to eat, she stayed and chatted with Parvati until it was time to face their doom in the Divinations tower.

It was a little discouraging to see how few of them there actually were when she walked in there. Theirs wasn't a big class, which only proved how necessary this was. Ginny was already sitting there, her hands in her lap and her knees pressed together. She looked so contained, so guarded.

Others were a little more eager. This was the biggest dating lottery and a few of them had hopes. Chances were low they would get exactly the person they wanted. But perhaps that was part of the Ministry's calculations. A baby from an illicit affair was as good as a legitimate one from within these sham marriages, weren't they? Good in Harry's case, because he couldn't seem to keep it in his pants at the moment.

The nervousness in the room was palpable. Even Hermione felt nervous, a feeling she hadn't had since returning to Hogwarts. In fact, it would be difficult to say she'd felt much of anything since returning—other than boredom.

Finally McGonagall and the Ministry man returned. Professor Trelawny joined them. Hermione couldn't remember his name. The man looked almost relieved. At the side of his hip was a pouch, which she now saw was filled with little scrolls. The professors all gathered around the bag, pulling the little scrolls out. That was what they were about to give out, Hermione realised. The pairings.

"Right," the man said as his returned his attention to the gathered girls. "As I mentioned, the connections have been carefully considered for the strongest offspring."

For once there was sullen silence in throughout the group.

Professor McGonagall stepped in. "We will all now be given your matches. Mr. Horsham has brought these little scrolls that provide the detail of the person you are to be joined with." Hermione noted she didn't use the word married. "We ask you to inform us after, as we don't know who is matched with whom, so we can inform… the other party."

"It seemed the easiest way to do this," Mr. Horsham said with excitement as if he was about to hand out presents. "Right, so your teachers better get these into the right hands so we can start the process. The ceremonies will occur a week from now. Details of where and when will be provided shortly."

With that, he handed over the scrolls and McGonagall and Trelawny went around in silence and handed them out, followed by gasps and outrage.

A scroll was put in Hermione's hand. Her name was written in black ink on the yellowish tube. Quickly she unrolled it and ignored the small text to see 'Harry Potter' written there. If it was relief or disappointment. Obviously it wasn't someone she hated. In fact, she loved Harry—like a brother. Sleeping with him seemed wrong in every way.

"No, I can't," Ginny said beside her. The distress in her voice was clear.

Guilt washed over Hermione because she got the one Ginny really wanted. Harry and Ginny did care for each other. They were just too messed up to be in each other's lives at the moment, and this marriage thing was going to torture each of them in turn. Hermione had always believed they would make their way back to each other in the end. But now she was to be married to Harry, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, because she could help to preserve their relationship.

"I'll seriously kill myself," Ginny said, and not in a joking fashion. It was exactly what Hermione didn't want to hear because she was worried about Ginny as it was. "His family tried to kill me. I'm not going to be in the same room as him, let alone married to him. It's not going to happen." The harshness in Ginny's voice made it thin and raw. She meant every word of it.

By Ginny's statement, she wondered if it was the worst possible choice for her, but she wasn't sure. Taking Ginny's scroll out of her hand, Hermione looked at it. 'Draco Malfoy' was the name written there and Hermione sighed. This wasn't going to work. Ginny wasn't strong enough to deal with a twat like him, and her first reaction was that she was going to kill herself.

"Fuck," Hermione exhaled through clenched teeth. This was the worst possible outcomes. Lucius Malfoy had callously tried to kill her in second year. What idiot would put her and Draco together?

The idiot was obviously standing in front of the class, being barraged by girls complaining.

"I'm sorry, the pairs are final."

As Hermione watched, he took refuge behind the desk with McGonagall and Trelwany on each side. The professors started taking scrolls and recording the pairs.

Ginny was now crying.

"Fuck," Hermione repeated. Before she could truly think about it, she took Ginny's scroll out of her hands and swapped it with her own. Disgust rose up through her, but it was the only option. Ginny just wasn't strong enough, and Harry was just going to have to man up and take care of her.

Beside her, Ginny unrolled the scroll and cried harder.

Hermione was at the end of her ability to take any more, so she rose and made her way over to the table before she chickened out.

Not wanting to, she handed the scroll over to McGonagall, who unrolled it and sighed.

"No, that's not…" Mr. Horsham started, looking at the name.

"You better pipe down or I'll hex you into next week," Hermione said to the man more harshly than she'd ever spoken. It was clearly a threat and she fully meant it that way. It gave him pause and he froze. He knew well enough who she was and probably believed every word of the threat. McGonagall just stared at her, but said nothing to interfere, leaving it to Horsham to choose how he wanted to deal with this.

He chose to ignore it, and Draco's name was written down next to hers. Hermione stared at it for a moment. Was it too late to grab that paper and tear it up? But what would that achieve. At least with Malfoy, he was going to stay as far away from her as he could. It might work out well.

A last withering look at the man with narrowed eyes, she walked out of the tower.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

There was an avalanche of noise as the girls were released from their meeting in the Divinations Tower. They were fired up, which proved something had happened. Most were gathered around the nearby courtyard, waiting to hear what had passed. Apparently, they would be taken in after to be subjected to whatever had just happened with the girls.

They were clearly upset. Although by the look of it, a few weren't that displeased.

Pansy approached, looking utter murderous, which was unusual because she typically ignored him. "Just, no," she said sharply. "And you are right, they are punishing us." An exaggerated shuddered shook down her spine.

"Who'd you get?"

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," she said tartly as if it was distasteful. "Mudblood."

They did seem to seek out every opportunity to punish. Although saying that, Justin actually seemed a good fit for Pansy. The guy was unbelievably up himself. Hadn't been seen at all during the troubles. That's what some people called in now, troubles. Others called it a civil war.

"My family will protest, of course," she said. "I'm not being married off to some clueless twit who doesn't even belong here."

Pansy kept walking, and Draco's eye kept searching. There was only one person they would pair him with if they were intent on punishing, and there she was, walking with long strides and straight back, not looking at anywhere except where she was going.

Part of him wanted to rush over there and demand to know who she'd got. The Weasel girl was crying, but then she always seemed to be these days, or not far off.

They disappeared from view.

On the other hand, he didn't want to know. These precious few moments before this new set of humiliation.

Truthfully, there wasn't a girl he'd want to be partnered with. None of them would want to be partnered with him, and if they did, they were mental. It boggled him how the authorities expected this to work. Forcing them to marry wasn't going to achieve anything. It meant nothing.

Across the courtyard, a girl was crying, demanding to her boyfriend that he do something.

What was the girl crying for? This meant nothing. The most faithless marriages that ever were. He certainly wasn't going to touch whoever was foisted on him, and it wouldn't stop him from getting into any girl he pleased. If any of them stopped veering around him like he was contagious.

But honestly, he enjoyed the solitude. He and his friends were not on the same page anymore. Things had changed all of them—perhaps him the most. Gossiping about pointless people held no interest for him. He didn't even care about fucking Potter, who was apparently screwing anything that walked. Potter wasn't the same person either. They had that in common. Draco couldn't muster the energy to care.

"Alright, boys," McGonagall called, appearing at the edge of the courtyard. "Please come through. As fast as you can. Let's not drag this out."

Her typical lemon squeezer face and she disappeared again.

Around him, guys walked like condemned criminals towards the stairs to the Divinations tower. All forced to participate in this utter farce.

But unfortunately, he couldn't even muster anger at being abused this way. He felt absolutely nothing. Not even now when he knew he would be targeted for further humiliation. Not even the humiliation registered any actual emotions. They'd just been stripped out. No anger, also no joy. The only thing he wanted was to be left alone. And now he was going to be hampered with a wife.

Maybe having one who wanted nothing to do with him was the best option.

Uncertainty made him feel uneasy. His nerves couldn't take uncertainty at the moment. This fake marriage, the living conditions that were to be foisted on them, because that was clear. Staying in that demeaning hall was a precursor to what was to come. Perhaps they made the conditions intolerable so people would complain less finally having some privacy. Full privacy was probably not going to be anyone's this whole fucking year.

With heavy feet, he followed the others up the Divinations tower. The room always had that slightly musty smell of dust and old things.

The room was unnaturally silent and most sat looking gloweringly at McGonagall, Trelawney and that emasculated twat from the Ministry.

"Alright, settle down," McGonagall said. "Mr. Horsham wants to say some words."

The man got up and started yakking on about statistics and generations. It was all bullshit and Draco tuned out.

"I'm sure you are all very excited and understand how important this is to our community," the man droned on.

It was a five-year sentence, and these arseholes had no control over what happened after this year. In his mind, he thought through the properties his family had where he could potentially stash a wife for four years. Although he wasn't sure what he had and what was confiscated. After this year, the girl could be stashed somewhere, never to be seen again until the day they signed the divorce papers.

Something had happened and the two professors were handing out scrolls. This had to be the pairing. Gasps and complaints followed in their wake. Others were curiously silent, perhaps not too displeased. The girls were more likely to be displeased, weren't they. Some of these guys would sell their mothers for a lay, so they weren't complaining at the imminent prospect.

McGonagall was approaching him, and against his will, his heart sped up. The parchment was stiff as he unrolled it. Granger. Of course fucking Granger. He'd known it the moment Pansy had gotten that twat mudblood. This was punishment. It had been from the start. Even if the overall intention was true, they would take the opportunity to make it as painful for him as possible.

Well, he certainly wouldn't be getting laid. And no wife of his was going to be running around with some red-headed wanker. That was for sure.

Although he hadn't seen much affection between Granger and the Weasel since they got here. Not that he'd been looking. Thanks to the public recount, everyone knew the Weasel had deserted her when things had gotten grim. It looked like she hadn't entirely forgiven him. People thought Granger was this gem of a human being, but she never forgave. No one held a grudge like that girl.

Obviously they would have to stay as far away from each other as possible or the hexes would be flying, and he would end up back in Azkaban. A few tears on her part and everyone in the world would believe he was an utter monster. And she wasn't above using it.

Father was going to lose it.

Around him, the guys were more circumspect about all this than the girls were as they filed out of the Divinations tower.

Truthfully, he felt better knowing. It still meant nothing. It shouldn't be hard to convince Granger that they completely ignore each other. At least he hadn't got someone who would be clinging onto him. In that respect, it could be worse, he supposed.

Some girls were standing around waiting down in the courtyard. Not Granger, he noted. She hadn't been crying before when she'd come out, but she hadn't looked his way either—and she had known. It said a lot about how she intended on approaching this. There seemed to be union between them on that.

There was class on now, and most weren't going.

Draco continued walking, passing Potter in the hall with some crying fifth year around his neck. Potter looked bored but trying not to look bored. Who was the lucky girl who got the war hero? Over his dead body would he ask, although it'd probably sent the girl into a new torrent of tears. Seriously, the way Potter had been going through girls, this girl's time would have been up in a matter of days. Draco recognised his past in Potter's behaviour. Now no one wanted to be near him—except Granger, who had no choice.

Instead of walking to class, Draco walked out of the castle and walked down to the Quidditch field to go sit in one of the spectator towers.

Summer was giving up its last breath. The air was cold. The dark of the Forbidden Forest was behind him. He'd been so scared of that place. Now he knew it wasn't in there the scary creatures were. The true monsters hid behind smiling faces, masking their insanity and hatred. They also hid behind incompetence and self-serving intentions.

A sense of panic pressed down on him. It did sometimes, unbidden and uncontrollable. His heart sped up, his hands grew clammy. A deep sense of dread that he could only sit through. This wasn't the first time—he'd had them before. They passed if he just kept breathing.

Closing his eyes, he tried to control his breathing. In and out, clearing all the crashing thoughts in his mind. Birds chirped, the wind stroked his face. There was no danger.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Chaos ensued as the rush of finding out who was with who roared into full swing. It was too much information to take in, and honestly, Hermione didn't care. This whole thing was a mess. This was never going to work.

Anger nipped at her. For being practical and numb through the realisation that she had to do something about Ginny, she was now simply angry.

"I've never even spoken two words to Blaise Zabini," Parvati whined in distress.

In theory, this might have seemed like a good idea, but in practice, this was nothing short of chaos.

"Who'd you get?" Parvati asked Luna.

"Ernie MacMillan," Luna said in her typical dreamy voice. Not even this flustered her. Actually, her and Ernie might be a good pair, Hermione conceded. Not that anyone else was. Except Harry and Ginny, but they hadn't been chosen originally. Ginny and Malfoy was completely disastrous. Didn't they take this at all into consideration? Obviously not.

Hermione was starting to have regrets about her act of sacrifice. She just couldn't sit there and watch Ginny implode, but now she needed to deal with the aftermath. Panic surged through her. Malfoy. THE DICK. This was obviously never going to work. Maybe they could keep on not even acknowledging each other for the rest of the year. That would probably work out for the best, or else, she would probably end up hexing him to smithereens.

The guys were streaming in now, and by the look on their faces, they had been told about the pairings. They were more quiet and reflective than the girls. Harry approached.

"I got Ginny," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Hermione replied. For a moment, she wondered if she should tell him what she'd done, but why? What would that possibly achieve? It's not like she wanted to be acknowledged for it or anything.

"Who'd you get?"

"Who could be the worst possible person to get?"

"Goyle."

"Worse."

Harry groaned. "No, they can't."

Well, they didn't, but that was beside the point.

"So are we actually getting married?" Neville asked. "Legally and everything?"

"Does that mean I get a portion of the Malfoy fortune?" Hermione asked.

"You're marrying Malfoy?" Neville asked with a dropping jaw.

"Who'd you get?" Harry asked him.

"Hannah Abbot."

"Oh," Harry said. "That's…"

"She's alright, I suppose," Neville said, his cheeks flaring red.

"Oh for God's sake," Hermione groaned.

"I got Susan Bones," Ron said as he joined them. He shrugged. "I'd do her."

"Nice, Ron," Parvati said tartly. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I think you've fared worst out of all of us." Parvati crossed her arms and seemed to shudder at the thought. Malfoy was the one everyone crossed the street to avoid. And now he was her problem to deal with.

"Whatever," Hermione said, losing interest in the conversation. Nothing about this was interesting her. She'd do what she had to do to get through the year and secure her magical practicing licence, and then get the hell out of here. Malfoy be damned. All that was really required of her was that she hold his hand for a moment, wasn't it? That's really all she had to do. Then she could ignore him for the rest of the year. But she bet the Malfoys would be stressing. As his wife, she be making them extremely uncomfortable. Not that she wanted a penny of their wealth, but she'd enjoy making them sweat if the opportunity arose.

"So are we going to get some actual rooms now?" Ron said. "Or should we be shagging our wives in those bunkbeds?"

Parvati groaned and left.

Ron was looking at Hermione as if she had answers. "I don't know anything you don't."

"You always seem to hear things no one else does."

"That's because I listen."

Thank mercy she hadn't been paired with Ron. He might actually be more aggravating than the surly and moody Malfoy.

"Is anyone going to class?" Neville asked.

"No," Ron replied like it was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. Then he turned his attention to Harry. "Who'd you get?"

"Your sister."

Ron's face clouded over and his mouth drew tight. Hermione guessed the idea of people shagging in bunk beds wasn't so appealing now. "What about you?" he said, turning to Hermione.

Hermione was done talking about this, so she turned tail and walked away. No doubt Harry would fill him in.

"What?!" she heard Ron exclaim just before she turned the corner. "That fucker."

Her eyes scanned the corridor as she walked, the nervous faces and haunted expressions. Closing her eyes for a moment, she calmed herself. This meant nothing. Nothing could be forced on them.

She decided to go to class, because she didn't want to talk to anyone about who she was paired with. Only a few stragglers were there, and annoying so was the blond no one wanted to be near—least of all her. Didn't look over as she walked in and she sat down in a chair with her arms crossed, where he wasn't in her line of sight.

A new sense of panic gripped inside her, but she closed her eyes and breathed through it. How could this be? How was she supposed to marry him? It was utterly insane.

Flintwick droned on, but Hermione couldn't listen. There were only half a dozen of them in class.

Hermione felt Malfoy's presence behind her, but she utterly refused to look at him. She sighed. It had been a mistake coming to class, but now she was here, stuck for two hours with him there.

Maybe they could learn a charm for making them unconscious for two hours to avoid a painful situation. In her mind, she thought through what she could do with magic to enact that. Or maybe even slow time down so she could sneak out and seemingly just disappear.

But she just ended up sitting there, barely taking in anything Flintwick said. It finally ended. The last class of the day.

There was nothing to pack up, because she hadn't brought anything. So she rose and turned, then froze as he was there, packing a book away into a bag.

There they were, in each other's vicinity. He looked over, his cool, grey eyes on her for a moment. There was nothing in his expression, but he was very good at that these days. Was he going to say something to her?

He didn't. His eyes returned to his bag, and Hermione finally got her legs moving. Was she nervous? Did this make her nervous? No, it was too insane. But it was certainly uncomfortable.

Once out of the Charms classroom, she walked swiftly, wishing she could return to the Gryffindor Common room, but they hadn't actually been given the passwords to their old common rooms, these days. There was nowhere to go but the stupid sleeping halls.

A whole evening of agonising wait, while everyone talked and commiserated about who they were stuck with for the next five years. Five fucking years. It felt like a prison sentence. Her and Malfoy were linked for five years. Obviously, she would be doing her own thing—probably in the muggle world just so she could avoid Malfoy.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall said. "A word in my office this evening after dinner. Seven thirty."

As far as Hermione had seen, no one else was being called in. She nodded. What was that about?

To kill some time and to get away from everyone, she went and had a shower, shutting herself away in a stall and letting the warm water sooth her. As much as she tried to think logically about all this, her emotions were rioting inside her. Malfoy. It was incomprehensible. Years and years of contention between them. The names he'd called her. The threats—being tortured in his house.

Emotions threatened to overwhelm her for a moment, but she forced them away, used her mind to logic her way through this new challenge. Exactly what was really bothering her, she couldn't really put a finger on, but it did—deeply.

Crying would release some of the pressure, but she refused to allow herself. Ginny wasn't crying, and that was the point. She was stronger than Ginny, and she had to remember that. There was a big picture that was more important.

Supper was raucous. Everyone was talking, but Hermione felt drained. Ginny on the other hand, looked happier than Hermione had seen her in quite a while. That made everything worth it, Hermione reminded herself.

Without looking, she noted Malfoy was sitting by himself at the Slytherin table. Always alone. His friends had deserted him. No one wanted to be associated with him now. It couldn't be fun being him at the moment. From what she'd known, it hadn't been fun being him back then either. He was a ghost of his old self.

Whether that spelled good or bad, she didn't know. Again, not that she cared. Probably he would agree with her that they should stay as far away from each other as possible. In that respect, the pairing might work out well.

"Merlin, I am so sorry to hear about your pairing," Cho said, sitting down next to her.

"You heard, huh?"

"Everyone's heard. It's the most explosive pairing out of all."

"Who'd you get?"

"Terry Boot."

"Oh," Hermione said. Well, that wasn't so bad, she thought, but didn't say anything. It might not feel that way from Cho's perspective.

"At least he's a friend, I suppose. I'm not really into him, though, and I can't see that changing."

"Ditto," Hermione said.

"I think we're all more worried you two will kill each other." Cho said ominously. One of those jokes that was making light of the fact that it really wasn't a joke. It probably wouldn't surprise anyone if one of them ended up dead or maimed as part of this experience. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Nope. And I plan to avoid that as long as possible."

"I hear we're getting our rooms tomorrow," Cho said, biting her lip. "Like little marriage apartments."

Oh wonderful. That's just what she needed. Her and Malfoy cooped up in a little apartment. This was going to go so well.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Draco had a bad feeling about this meeting with McGonagall. One of those where he wished it wouldn't be terrible, but he'd end up being surprised how terrible it was. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a pep talk from McGonagall considering how bad this pairing was. One of those, 'suck it up and smile' things.

At the end of the Slytherin table was where he sat and he stayed there until this meeting came around, wondering where he'd rather be. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anywhere. Maybe getting wasted at the Leaky Cauldron, but there would be too many people giving dirty looks, probably some drunk arsehole coming up to demand to see his dark mark.

Nope, the Leaky Cauldron wasn't an option. Maybe some bar somewhere in America where no one knew who he was. Home—definitely not. His mother's incessant guilt and his father's determination to restore their faded glory were too much to tolerate. Truthfully, Draco didn't give a fuck about these people. Any of them.

Then he wondered if it was worth losing his licence to practice magic, but no, unfortunately, it wasn't. It was the one thing he needed, so he'd have to stay here and put up with all this bullshit.

Someone bumped his back, pushing him into the table and Draco turned to see Harper walking away. Too cowardly to stay, the sad sack. Looking for a fight, but not fully committed to it.

There was a power vacuum within the Slytherin house and Harper was one of the ones going for it. And it meant Draco was a target of their bravado. Yeah, well, careful, but there was only so much shit he'd be willing to put up with. Except, the Wizengamot was itching to have something to pin on him, and the bastards around here all knew it. Essentially, he had no choice but to put up with their shit—or he'd end up back in Azkaban for even the smallest infringement.

Gritting his teeth, he sighed and returned his attention to the slice of cake he wasn't getting through. Could he murder Granger and replace her with a polyjuiced elf? Sadly, it would never work. There would be so much attention on Granger, he couldn't get away with anything.

Living with her was going to be unbearable. Just hearing her voice every day, in the place where he was supposed to unwind. This really was cruel and unusual punishment.

It was time to head up and he walked to the statue that led to the headmaster's office. The password hadn't changed since Dumbledore. The place was a mausoleum to the man. Draco didn't like being in there—he didn't like being reminded of the past.

Walking up the steps, he heard familiar voices and groaned. Could his day get any worse? Pushing the door open, he walked in, the familiar scent of books and wax wafting over him. This place even smelled like Dumbledore.

"There you are, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said, sitting behind her desk. With their backs towards him were his parents. "We're just waiting on Miss Granger. Word has been sent to her family, but I haven't heard anything back, so I'm not sure whether they will be attending."

Draco was hesitant to move closer, while his father rose from the chair and walked to the side before turning to him. They were both dressed to impress.

A noise behind him made him turn and Granger came through the door. She paused as she looked around, seeing all the people there.

"Lovely, Miss Granger. If you would approach. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy have requested this meeting. I sent word to your parents, but I haven't had any response."

"They won't be coming," Granger shot in practically before McGonagall finished speaking.

"What a shame. Please take a seat."

Granger walked forwards and Draco could see wariness in her. Perhaps she didn't know any more than he about the purpose of this meeting. She sat down and Draco reluctantly followed suit to sit in the chair between his mother and Granger.

"Now, what is it we can do for you?" McGonagall asked, turning her attention to Lucius.

"Well, it's about this ridiculous decree," Lucius said haughtily. "Clearly we object to it."

"I believe the necessity of it has been communicated to all parents by the Ministry. Were you not sent a letter."

"Let's not pretend that this is nothing other than a means to humiliate our family."

Draco wasn't sure how he felt, whether it was pure mortification or if he didn't care at all.

"I assure you."

"You cannot presume to tell you that marriage between my son and… Miss Granger is necessary. That is ridiculous beyond words. I might be persuaded that relationships between these young people are necessary, but it is much more suitable for them to be paired with people of their stature and circumstances. This," he said, showing to Granger with his palm, "is nothing more than punishing this family by forcing a highly unsuitable pairing that cannot serve either party."

Granger didn't say a word, only sat mutely in her chair.

"I believe, Mr. Malfoy, that pairings were chosen on their genetic diversity."

Narcissa cleared her throat. "Members of my family tortured this poor girl on the floor of our living room. You cannot proclaim the benefits of genetic diversity in that light."

McGonagall sighed. "Objections were, of course, expected, but the decree stands. They have been paired. But the Ministry cannot force these two to do anything beyond living in the same apartment. In five years' time, both will be free to marry as they please."

"Five years," Lucius said with a huff. "It's preposterous. I will have a word with the Minister about this."

"I am fairly confident, Mr. Malfoy, that you wouldn't be here if you'd already had some traction there," McGonagall said.

"What are you implying, McGonagall?"

"I think she is saying," Granger piped in, "that the Minister isn't taking your view or your objections into account."

Lucius slowly turned his head to her in the way that used to terrify Draco. Now he didn't care, and Granger certainly didn't cower. That's what had always annoyed Lucius about Potter and co, they never cowered at his displeasure.

"No, I'm afraid myself and the staff here have had no input on the pairings, and have no influence on them now. If you cannot convince the Minister to give you special dispensation, I'm afraid there is little I can do for you. As aggrieved as I am to say so."

There was some honesty in that statement. McGonagall didn't like this decree—it was forced on her.

Lucius wasn't happy. His lips were a thin line of displeasure, his chin high. "My son is being unjustly treated as part of this process, and don't deny it. The choice of partner for him cannot be anything but political."

Beside him, Granger exhaled through her nose and looked away. Her parents obviously didn't care enough to show up. What had she told them about this? Or were they pleased with the outcome—a means to wealth and privilege. Well, Draco didn't know for sure about the wealth, but suspected it, along with their privilege, had been severely reduced. Maybe they'd be more upset about their daughter being shackled to her nemesis if they knew.

"We're leaving," Lucius said sharply and he turned on his heels and marched out of the room.

"You know fully that this is petty and unjust," Narcissa said as she rose. "Be it on your conscience. And know you are a petty creature."

His parents were angry, which boded well, but they weren't ever going to accepting of this pairing. While they might not show their more isolationist attitudes these days, it didn't mean they had changed. Granger was a mudblood at the end of the day, and that was never going to be acceptable. That was the true source of their objection. They didn't want to risk a non-pedigree edition to the family. But really, him knocking up Granger was never going to happen. They had nothing to worry about.

"Nice, Malfoy, getting your parents to fight your battles for you, but then you always have, haven't you?" Granger said as she rose from her chair.

"Fuck you, Granger," he replied.

"Behave both of you," McGonagall said harshly. "This is an unfortunate trial everyone must simply bear, and I expect you two," she said, pointing at each of them, "to behave with decorum and circumspection. This is not a field of battle. We left the war behind and if either of you forget that, I will lock you into your apartment so as to not disturb the rest of the students. Do I make myself clear?"

No one managed a dressing down with the harshness that McGonagall did. It's amazing she didn't manage to cower Voldemort.

"Yes, Professor," Granger said weakly.

Draco didn't respond and kept walking to the door. "At least my parents cared enough to show up," he said as Granger appeared in the stairwell.

"Off you go, arsehole," she said with her hands on either side of the wall, waiting for him to leave, which he had no hesitancy of doing. Yeah, really, his parents didn't need to worry.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N galatea8817, please PM me, because I can't respond to you.

Chapter 10

The girl's hall was a buzz of talking and milling. It was crowded as they were all in there at the moment. Ginny was preparing her hair, wearing a peach-coloured dress. A few people were actually pulling on wedding dresses.

Hermione sat in her uniform on her bunk with her legs crossed underneath her. All the fuss around her was annoying.

Unfortunately, the Malfoys' objection to this marriage wasn't swinging the Ministry. It hadn't even offended her, because it served her purpose. She certainly didn't want to be tied to these people—even out of spite. So she was quite happy to sit back and let them do their worst. Seemed they didn't have the same level of influence as before, because they were completely ignored.

Well, that was something, wasn't it?

But today the marriages would go ahead. In McGonagall's office, they had been told. One after another, they would be led in and the deed done—like lambs to the slaughter.

Ginny was singing quietly beside her, still brushing her hair. Being paired with Harry, she'd calmed right down, clearly ignoring the fact that he was currently sleeping with Romilda Vane. Romilda finally got her wish. Hopefully it was living up to expectations.

Across the room, Susan Bones didn't seem all that happy either—paired with Ron. They really didn't suit each other, but then Hermione couldn't really see anyone suiting Ron. He needed someone who told him what to do, really.

Luna was putting small flowers in her hair, each kind probably having some hidden meaning.

It was incomprehensible how many people were growing to accept this edict. A lot of it was driven by curiosity rather actually wanting to get married to the person they were paired with. A few of them seemingly wanted to wear a pretty dress.

Obviously Hermione wasn't going to. It was a protest at being forced into this. And then, why would she even bother to make an effort for Malfoy? This wasn't a marriage. It was a sham and she wasn't prepared to pretend it was anything else.

The other night, Ginny had talked with her mother through the Floo Network, and her family was really excited about this development. To them this was completely real, a logical choice they expected would happen anyway.

Hermione sighed thinking back on it. She just wasn't sure Harry was on the same page. He simply wasn't in the space to consider serious decisions at the moment. Hermione suspected there had been too many serious decisions in the last years, he had simply run out of space in his heart and mind for seriousness. Or maybe he was simply losing himself in other people. Hermione didn't know. It wasn't something either of them wanted to talk about.

Truthfully, they were all barely keeping their head above water. Ron was off doing his own thing with people he hadn't really spent much time with before. Looking at them now, one wouldn't assume the three of them had ever been the closest friends, because they weren't at the moment. None of them spent any time together, and while she missed them, she couldn't tolerate them either as they were right now.

Sighing, she looked down at her lap. Truthfully there wasn't anyone she could particularly stand right now. Certainly not her parents who barely remembered her name from one moment to the next. Or the well-meaning, but ultimately suffocating Weasleys.

Actually, was there a honeymoon involved with this debacle? Because she could use a week of sleeping on a beach somewhere, but she supposed it would have to involve Malfoy with inherently meant it would be hell on earth.

Shifting down, she turned over and tucked her knees up. Tonight they would be shown to their new accommodation, and getting away from the mayhem in this hall was the only upside.

"Alright, Hermione," Mrs. Pomfrey said, appearing at the foot of the bed. The woman looked out of place outside the hospital wing. She held a clipboard and waited until Hermione rose. "Not dressing in something special?"

"What for?" Hermione challenged.

Mrs. Pomfrey didn't respond. "This way. Your parents are not attending today?"

"No, I intend for them to never find out this ever happened."

Mrs. Pomfrey faltered, her mouth opening as if to argue, but decided there wasn't anything she could say. It wasn't as though they had to be informed. They were never going to meet any of the Malfoy. There would be no joint dinners with the in-laws. And it wasn't like they'd remember anyway. In fact, she was considering obliviating herself after this so not even she remembered. But considering the side effects on her parents, those where charms she didn't want to mess with.

The halls were empty, and they passed a few couples walking together in the courtyard with their parents. They looked quietly excited. How could these idiots buy into this bullshit?

Still, her nerves fired up as they got closer to the entrance to McGonagall's office. Part of her wanted to turn tail and run for it, but another didn't want to give Malfoy the satisfaction. If there was one thing to take to heart about this, it was that he hated it more than she did.

The staircase rolled open and Mrs. Pomfrey urged her up. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment before starting to climb. She really did feel like she was heading in to be slaughtered. This was going to be mortifying however it went.

Steadying herself at the top of the stairs, she prepared herself to enter the office. She'd faced down every Deatheater in the country. Malfoy wasn't going to have her quaking in her boots. She refused.

The door was open and she could see McGonagall talking. Then Malfoy standing with his back to her in his typical black suit. His parents stood beside him.

"You requested my presence," Hermione said dryly and they all turned to her. She refused to smile.

"I am sure you know why you are here today," McGonagall said, but Hermione refused to acknowledge anything. "Well, let's get on with this. Miss Granger, if you would come stand here." With her wand, she pointed to a spot close to her desk, and Hermione held her head high as she moved to the indicated spot. "And you here, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco blinked, then moved as directed. At no point did he look at Hermione, which was fine with her. Malfoy had never been one to be gracious, so why should she expect it now?

The elder Malfoys didn't say anything, they silently stood where they were, seeing their son being abused as he was. Hermione chuckled slightly, hoping this was absolutely mortifying to them.

"If you would turn to Mr. Malfoy and take his hand," McGonagall said to her.

Exhaling through her nose, she turned to Malfoy and took his outreached hand, the slim, pale fingers. It was warm. Probably the first time she'd truly touched any part of him since that time in third year when she'd decked him. Her fist to his face. Now here they were, doing a handfasting ceremony.

She had to force herself not to pull away as McGonagall started the charm. This felt wrong. It felt too much. They weren't supposed to be here together. Right at that moment, she wanted to say no, say that she was supposed to be here with Harry. A panicked impulse. Shallowing, she calmed herself. She'd faced worse than this.

Magical energy snaked like a figure eight around their wrists and then dissipated. That magic, whatever it was, and as far as she knew it didn't really do anything, would be there for five long years. It was symbolic, like a ring.

Looking up, she saw nothing in his eyes. Not anger, not resignation—just nothing. It could have been a cardboard cut out for all the animation. But then he was used to doing what he was told, wasn't he? Both Voldemort and Bellatrix had made him do whatever they'd wanted. Even she had seen that back when she was being tortured on the floor of his house. Good times. A nice memory they shared—along with so many others.

The charm was done and they both let go. She still felt the ghost of the touch, or was that the magic? Where was a certain warmth, which might have been the magic. Now they could go back to never touching each other again, until five years' time when this magic would be undone.

"I see your parents had the courtesy to make an appearance," Lucius Malfoy said sarcastically. "Couldn't manage to make their way here? It is difficult to reach for muggles, I understand."

"I never informed them," Hermione stated. "Saw no reason to."

Not waiting for a response, she marched to the door and out. It was a relief being out of that room. This fuckwit of an edict was done. She'd done her part. There was nothing else they could make her do now. She certainly wasn't going to stick around and trade insults with the Malfoys.

Walking straight back to the hall, she crawled back on top of her bunk.

"How was it?" Ginny asked.

"As you would expect," Hermione replied, not sure what Ginny expected her to say.

Mrs. Pomfrey appeared at their bunk bed again and Ginny turned, nervously running her palms down the front of her dress. She looked lovely. Even Hermione had to admit it softened her looking at Ginny like that. So full of hope. Harry had better too. "Ready?" Mrs. Pomfrey asked, and Ginny nodded.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Madam Hooch led them down a corridor, one Draco had never seen before. It was gloomy and without any degree of charm. Hastily build, he would guess, and not intended to be kept after this madness was over.

Embarrassment still burned within him, at his parents, the situation and the fact that he had no control over this. Granger walked beside him, her arms crossed and with the perpetual pout. The silence, except for their footsteps, seemed to emanate from the very walls.

"Here we are," Madam Hooch said sharply. "Number twenty-three. Your new accommodation."

"Oh good," Granger said equally sharply. "How old we'll be when we divorce."

Hooch cast her a piercing look, not appreciating the interjection. "I am sure you can explore it without me informing you what is there. They are all the same," she said, apparently to him as if she was expecting him to complain about the accommodation. Of course it was going to be revolting, but more so for the company he was forced to keep. "I'll leave you to settle in. Determine a password between you and state it now as you enter."

With sharp, determined strides, the woman walked away, leaving him and Granger to stark, stubborn silence.

"We need a password," Granger said, turning to him. Even her voice sent chalkboard scraping-like chills down his spine.

"How about 'Fuck You'?"

"Ah, I love you too, _husband_ ," she said as snarkily as she could. "How about 'Death Eater scum'? That works."

"I still prefer 'Fuck You.'"

"'Eat Shit' has a nice ring to it."

"'Mudblood'?"

Granger's eyes narrowed. "Nice to see you've evolved. Still mentally twelve, are we?"

"Yes," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and giving her a shove back just before grabbing the door handle and opening the door. "Potter sucks cock," he said as he walked in, setting the password.

"You know, I've always suspected there's been some degree of wishful thinking there," she said tartly as she stepped inside. "And now you're going to be saying it over and over again, like a mantra."

"Fuck you, Granger. We should have gone with that, but you had to be problematic." The room they entered was made of gray stone walls, an open plan lounge and kitchen. "They expect us to fucking cook?"

Granger was silent, walking around and looking at everything, finally settling her attention on the small staircase to the left wall of the apartment that led up to a door. She walked over and up the staircase, disappearing into the door. "There's only one bedroom," she said as she came out again. There was shock on her face.

"Goes with the whole married and fucking theme," Draco said tersely. This was hell. This place was absolutely tiny.

"No way are you sleeping in my bed," Granger said. "You'll have to find somewhere else to sleep."

"Fuck off. You want to sleep somewhere else, be my guest, but I'm not."

If looks could kill, she would have killed him a long time ago. With a slow, angry exhale, he turned around and surveyed the place more closely. A couch and a chair, a small table and a fireplace. A crappy, old rug that had probably been pulled out of some forgotten storage. Had to be after everything stored in the Room of Requirement had burned to a cinder.

The kitchen had a sink and a stove, and stuff he couldn't even identify. A bench extended into the space, running parallel with the stairs up to the bedroom. It was supposed to serve as a dining area, he suspected. There were stools. Granger still stood on the stairway landing with her arms crossed. Couldn't be lost for words, could she? It would be a fucking miracle. Closing his eyes, he imagined a year of her harping in his ear.

Still silently, she walked down the stairs and continued out the door. The relief of being without the jarring aberration that she was felt soothing. It was going to be the year from hell. In terms of punishment, he had to give it to them—this was creative, and so very effective. Grangers or dementors, it was a toss-up.

Looking over, he saw knifes sitting in a wooden block. Was there careful consideration to their placement there? Was this all in the hopes of him losing his temper and plunging one of those into her. Really? Knives? Not his style.

Maybe he could cast a silencing spell in this space so neither of them could talk. Granger would remove it within seconds. She wasn't right in the world unless her squeaky voice was echoing off the walls.

Moving to the couch, he lay down and crossed his ankles. Maybe they could set up a schedule so they used the apartment at different times, never really seeing each other.

He loved being alone, loved the silence. Staying in that hall with countless other people had been driving him around the bend, and now he had glorious silence. Hopefully Granger would fall off a parapet somewhere.

His eyes closed, he drifted off, thinking himself away from Hogwarts. A home—how it had used to be before everything turned to shit. This place was lovely, between wake and sleep. This was where peace was, because as soon as he plunged deeper, it all turned nasty. The dreams were endless and relentless. The dark, the fear, the tension, the knowledge that he probably wasn't going to make it through the day.

Awake, he'd stopped caring, but he couldn't make himself stop caring while he dreamt. That fear was insidious and ever-present. And it was probably never going away.

He found himself in the darkness, in front of a house where a pale light shone in the windows. Hooded, dark cloaked figures moved around him, silently sneaking up to the house. They were going in soon, invading that house. Whoever was on the inside, this would be the last moments of their lives. And terror, screaming was about to erupt.

"You go in first, kid," a harsh voice said in his ear. "And if I find you cowering in a corner, you're done, yeah? We'll say it was a stray curse and no one would be the wiser. Your bitch of a mother would cry and cry."

Regripping the wand in his gloved hand, he held himself back from bringing it up, from killing the man right there and then. He couldn't. It would be the end of him, and he had to survive—do whatever it took to survive. All these things he didn't want to do, just for survival.

The tiniest creak wheedled into his mind. Danger. Something wasn't right. Death was imminent. His own breath was all he could hear as he searched for the danger, and then with a rush, he emerged into silence. Was that how it happened? Death.

Opening his eyes, he saw stone ceiling. He had no idea where he was. Was he dead? His senses were on a knife's edge, searching for whatever threat was about to descend.

"There's no coffee," a soft voice said. "A plunger, but no coffee."

His heart beat wildly inside his chest, painfully beating as he flopped his head down again and exhaled.

Granger appeared above him, over the back of the couch. "You look different when you sleep."

"Fuck off, Granger," he croaked, his voice affected by the adrenalin in his system. Shifting his legs off the couch, he sat up, trying to get his senses in order. Leaning over, he put his head down to alleviate the nausea. That was often how he woke, these days, with nausea from his horrific dreams. This one hadn't been too bad. They got worse.

Granger was back in the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards. Twisting back, he lay down again, and placed his wrist behind his head. Granger was in sight as she opened another cupboard. "Any dietary peculiarities I should know about? Intense allergies? Wouldn't want to kill you—accidentally."

From her crouching position, she turned to look back at him. No, she wouldn't want to kill him at all. In fact, he probably couldn't eat anything she prepared. If not murder, she would love to see him spewing his guts out for hours on end. Not everyone saw this about saint Granger, but there was petty cruelty in her. Sneaky and hidden, but it was there. And she wouldn't hesitate to twist the knife in if the occasion called for it. So many people couldn't see past the front she put up. She'd make a good Slytherin if it wasn't for the whole mudblood thing.

"No," he replied. Was that disappointment he saw in her features? "You?"

"Why? Are you ever going to cook?"

"Absolutely not."

"Pig."

A smile spread across his lips. Well, if nothing else, he could be a shitty husband.

"Oh, and any personal effects I see on the floor, will face immediate destruction. Just how I was raised," she said.

Draco had never been slovenly. It gave too much away to enemies. Now here he was shacked up with one. No, he wouldn't be leaving his things lying around where they were within her reach. Who knew what her sordid mind would come up with. In fact, he didn't want her anywhere near his stuff. It would be too much of an intrusion.

"Classes are on this afternoon," she said. Draco had Defense of the Dark Arts, which he was going to skip. Out of everyone, he knew the tactics and strategies of the dark. He didn't need some novice on the topic trying to teach him. Because the truth was that if they came for you, there was fuck all you could do about it.

The good thing about the abolition of houses for their year was that they didn't have a lot of classes together like they used to. In fact, they only had a couple together. A false victory, because instead, they got to share this space together—a bed together. Wasn't that just wonderful?


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Anger wafted off her as Hermione sat down for History of Magic class. There was hardly anyone there. Apparently, not everyone would rather be anywhere else but in their new flats with their new spouses.

This was all going to be worse than she had hoped. No, that wasn't true—she'd known exactly how bad it was going to be. Living it just made it feel worse. Malfoy was a pig and he was unreasonable too. Clearly refusing to be gentlemanly. But when had he ever been gracious, having always gone out of his way to be as jarring and prickly as he can. Why would that change now?

"Hey," Harry said quietly, slipping into the chair next to her. She hadn't expected him to be there. Was he hiding from Ginny like she was hiding from Malfoy? Obviously, things were a lot trickier for him, because there were real feelings involved, even though they hadn't been able to make it work.

For a moment, she wondered if she'd made a real mistake switching the partnership. But then again, her and Harry together. No, just the implication of them being together as anything more than friends was uncomfortable, but they would have made good roommates. Ginny with Malfoy would probably result in a mental breakdown for her. And Malfoy, the bastard, would see that as to his benefit. No, she'd done the only thing she could have done.

"How's it going with you and Ginny?"

Harry winced. "You know. We're both walking on eggshells, being super polite." He sighed. "I don't know if I can do this, Hermione."

"Yeah, you can. It's just Ginny."

Awkwardly, Harry shifted in his chair. "I just can't be what she wants me to be."

"Then don't be. Just be friends. If that is what you need, then I'm sure she'll understand. You just have to actually tell her."

Harry stared at her for a while, as if trying to absorb what she was saying.

"And maybe stop sleeping with every girl in the school. Surely you've gone through them all by now."

"Well, most of them are married women now, not that it's going to stop most people, I suspect."

With an eye-roll, Hermione shook her head. "Well, now that you've slept with everyone, has it helped with whatever trauma you are trying to deal with?"

"I'm not—" he started, but Hermione gave him the look that always stopped him right in his tracks.

"Because only really well-adjusted people become sex addicts."

"I'm not a sex addict," Harry said with a snort.

"Whatever," Hermione said, cutting him off before he got into whatever he told himself to justify his behaviour. "I have my own problems to deal with."

"How's that going?"

"No one's dead yet, so that's a bonus, I suppose."

"I think there's a betting pool going."

Again Hermione rolled her eyes. This was all fun entertainment for everyone else to watch.

"Seamus reckons he already has Katie Bell pregnant," Harry said with a smile.

"Uh huh," Hermione said dismissively. Seamus was never shy in massively exaggerating the truth. Katie probably won't even let him near her. A shudder went through her at the thought, and for a millisecond, she wondered if she was better off with Malfoy than being stuck with a hopeful and unjustifiably bragging Seamus.

Professor Binns was droning on about the political environment leading up to the Goblin Wars, which more or less amounted to arrogant people doing stupid things. No wait, she'd seen that scenario before. Funny how things repeated themselves.

The urge to simply walk out of the school gates and never come back was still there, but she would be giving up on the magical world forever if she did, and she knew that she wouldn't always feel the way she did now. Things were bad and this was the aftermath—not a good time to make life-long decisions

"Look," she said to Harry, as the class was finishing up. "The worst thing you can do to Ginny right now is having her feel like she doesn't know what's going on. So just lay it out there."

"What? Me being a sex addict?"

"Or whatever it is you want to call it. Just front up. This is where I am, and this is what I need right now."

"And I'll blame you when she starts crying."

"As opposed to lying to her face and going behind her back."

"Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that."

"That's how it's going to look from her perspective."

"You're just a ray of sunshine at the moment."

"And you're in the habit of covering shit up."

Harry growled as he took his bag and swung it over his should. It might not be what he wanted to hear, but he knew he had to sort shit out if only for Ginny's sake.

The door closed behind her as she walked out and she just stood there for a while, watching Harry's retreating back as he walked away. There wasn't anywhere she wanted to go. Not back to her apartment, not the library. She'd gone to class to escape and now she was being shoved back to where she wanted to escape from.

Reluctantly, she put one foot in front of the other and carried herself back to her apartment, where she had to voice Malfoy's secret fantasies to get in. Luckily it was empty. Malfoy, the dick, was somewhere else, although she had no idea where as he had no friends and no compunction for going to class. Not that she cared. Hopefully he was floating at the bottom of the lake.

Dropping her bag down, she walked up the small staircase up to the bedroom. Her trunk was there, next to the black lacquered one with the fancy 'M' in gold. For a moment, she wanted to grab something heavy and hard to smash it. But then she'd have to explain herself afterwards, and Malfoy would probably make hay and complain to McGonagall about it—demand that she do something. Anything he could do to make her life hell, he would.

With a growl, she turned away to the bed. It was beautiful. Four posters with a white lace canopy. Intended to be romantic. As if.

Walking to the far side, she took her shoes off and lay down. It took seconds to fall asleep. Her brain was exhausted. Every single one of her emotions were exhausted.

"You missed dinner," said a voice wheedling into her numb dreams. "Getting a head start into the bed isn't going to make me concede it."

"Fuck off, Malfoy," she mumbled without opening her eyes. Missed dinner? She must have slept for four hours.

She heard him moving around the room, then felt the mattress move as he lay down. Her discomfort shot up. This was way too close for either of them to be comfortable.

"I'm not giving up the bed," he said.

"And neither am I."

"Don't mind my erection in the mornings, and believe me, it has nothing to do with you."

"Ugh," Hermione said with a shudder. "The sofa is perfectly serviceable."

"Then that's where you should sleep."

"So we can either be totally stubborn and end up sleeping in the same bed because neither of us would concede, or we can agree something that suits both of us," she said. "I'm not secretly hoping for the former."

"I'm not dumb enough to go for that one, Granger."

"Shame. The point I was trying to make was that we can be more clever, say by agreeing that we take turns sleeping on the bed and the sofa. Every other night. It is fair. But you trying to insist that you should have the upper hand, that you should be more privileged than me, will only have us sleeping in the same bed. Concede or die, really. Your choice."

Malfoy was silent for a moment, his mouth pursed in displeasure. He lay with his wrist behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Fine," he conceded after a while, "but I'm sleeping in the bed tonight."

"Fine," she said and rose, glad that this was the only time they would be in bed together. Even saying it in her mind sent shudders of revulsion down her spine, just imagining saying that to other people. Yeah, we're totally cozied up in the same bed every night. Her stomach turned at the thought. So, fine, she would sleep on the sofa tonight, and if he reneged in the morning, they would be right back here, ready to find out what he looked like in the mornings.

Grabbing her pillow and the spare blanket, she walked out of the bedroom and down to the lounge. The sofa was comfortable enough. It wasn't a bed, but it would do. And the security of not accidentally reaching out and touching him was assuring. Besides, she could stay up and read as long as she wanted. And he would… whatever he did out of sight.

"And no wanking in my bed," she yelled with her hashest voice.

"Well, now I'm too tempted not to," she heard back.

With a growl, she smashed the pillow with her fist and sunk her head down on it. This was an endless nightmare.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Draco didn't know where he was when he woke. It was utterly silent and a stark contrast after the communal hall where nothing was ever silent.

It felt like the first time in a while that he had a space to himself. No, not himself—she was down there, just beyond the door. A unique version of hell created just for him.

And now there was class to get to. Some people had seemingly given up on the concept. They were adults now, married and with responsibilities. Going to class was passé. Even Granger couldn't be bothered half the time. Never eagerly held her hand up or was first to finish every single task, never quite realizing how most rolled their eyes at her constant need for approval.

Dragging himself out, he sat on the bed for a while. This was hell, but it only had to go on for a year. It was better than Azkaban. Anything was better than Azkaban. Even pretending he was in love with Granger would be better than sitting in a slimy, horrid cell.

Going into the bathroom, he showered and dressed. The sun had the very last pretence of summer, but it was hardly warm.

They were to be rewarded this weekend with approval to visit Hogsmeade. It used to be such a treat, the ability to go and fill is pockets with lollies and chocolate, but there was nothing he wanted from there. There was the pub, but it was full of people throwing him filthy looks. No, he would not be going. There was no reason to.

The last time he'd been, Death Eaters had been roaming the place, ensuring no one stepped out of line and searching for fugitives. One of whom he was now married to. The world turned, sharply and savagely, and they all turned with it.

Opening his trunks, he grabbed his Advanced Ancient Runes book. It was a class he didn't strictly mind. And he'd been allowed to drop the classes he didn't want this year, including Astronomy, Divinations, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies and Defence of the Dark Arts. The latter primarily because he made the other students uncomfortable, and really, they weren't going to teach him things he didn't know. The things he truly didn't know weren't going to on the Hogwarts syllabus. And Muggle Studies—why waste everyone's time.

Book in hand, he left the bedroom. This coming night, he would be sleeping on the sofa as they had agreed. A deal was a deal. He didn't like it, but he didn't back down on his word once he'd given it.

Granger sat on the sofa, reading a book. She looked up at hearing him, her hair wild and unruly. She slept in a t-shirt and shorts, which were pink with rainbows on them. It was the most ludicrous piece of garment he'd ever seen. No amount of muggle studies would make him understand their fashion choices.

"Finally," she said. "I barely have time to shower before class."

"What a shame," he said dryly. "Do you think it will improve how you look?" It was an immature comment and even he conceded it. Granger rolled her eyes as she rose and walked past him up the stairs and into the bedroom. It felt like an intrusion, as if she was walking into his personal space. But the concept of personal space was an illusion. His space was her space. It was all part of the punishment inflicted on them.

Refusing to stay longer, he felt the apartment and went down to the Great Hall. It was relatively busy, with the younger year students and the older students who still went to class. No Potter and no Weasel, he noted. Guess they were part of the crowd who felt they were too old and experienced to have anything to learn from this place. Not that they'd ever been academically minded. Had only gotten through because Granger had dragged them. Potter, for being the hero of the wizarding world, wasn't the brightest spark. At times Draco had wondered if his supposed bravery was just stupidity wrapped up in a pretty cloak.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple—it never had been. Potter had always been elusive for Voldemort. No family to squeeze, no home or relatives. To Voldemort, Potter had been elusive and impervious to most of the things he'd used to pressure people. And he'd been protected. Potter had had the strongest protectors in the wizarding world, including Snape and Dumbledore.

While he, himself, had had Dumbledore's sympathy, he'd never had his protection. He'd been written off from the start—subject to coercion and manipulation from every angle. Part of his rage toward Potter had always stemmed from that, and he'd known it. No one had tried to hide him away as Voldemort was rising, and he'd been left in the care of Voldemort's sycophants. Even people who'd used him as a shield to protect themselves.

Sitting down at the end of the table, a couple of third years relinquished their seats and moved away, leaving him alone at the end of the Slytherin table. Few from his own year were there, not that they'd be sitting with him if they were. Self-preservation was a tenant of the Slytherin belief system. More important than loyalty, and he understood that.

He ate and left, going to class early. The room was vacant when he got there to stand by the window and watch the calm and serene world outside. First years were down on the lawn, having their first flying lessons. It felt like a lifetime ago he'd been down there. Everything had been so bright then. He'd been on top of the world, and the future had belonged to him. But that whole perspective was gone now.

"Ugh," he heard from the door and he knew the voice without having to turn around. His lovely wife had just arrived. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and wished he was anywhere else. Unfortunately, they shared most classes, since apparently they had similar views on what classes they should drop, except Care of Magical Creature, which she still took out of some lame notion of being loyal to that overgrown oaf.

Someone like her, her future hardly lay in caring for creatures. Ambition had always been core to her, but like everything else, that might have changed. At the core, though, did any of them really change?

Silence stretched in the room and he could hear her take a seat and arrange her things. Others started arriving and finally class started. Taking his seat, Draco only listened half-heartedly. This wasn't a practical class like Charms, Transfiguration or Potions, so they could just sit there with wandering minds.

He hated it when his mind wandered. It drew him back to dark places. Memories claimed him as they tended to do in quiet moments. At times he wondered if it would have been better if he'd simply died back then. If he were never to recover who he was, had been, then perhaps living wasn't worth it.

To distract himself, he absently ran his thumbnail along the groves of decades of vandalism into the wooden surface of his desk. These people who'd been so excited about their future and prospects, unable to wait until they were released from here to embrace their adulthood.

Eventually class ended. He couldn't say he'd learned anything in the past two hours. Perhaps his mind was too full of shock and horror for any new mundane information to make it inside.

Around him, students were rushing to class, chatting, shrieking and laughing. Just noise, a wall of noise. Too much. It overwhelmed him for a moment and he took the exit into the courtyard just to get away from them. On the grass, he stood and closed his eyes, trying to block it all out. His heart sped and familiar panic gripped him. There was nothing he could do—he was powerless against it. It just took him, robbing him of breath, sense and sanity.

Eventually his heart slowed as slowly breathed in and out. For how long, he didn't know. The sun was on his face, but it had no warmth. Opening his eyes, he saw an empty courtyard and corridors beyond. Everyone must have retreated to their respective classes, leaving behind sheer emptiness.

He went to move, but he had nowhere to go, so he simply stayed, but it started raining and it was seeping into the shoulders of his jacket. He had to move, but he didn't want to. Placing one foot in front of the other, he forced himself.

Without thought or design, he ended up at the door to the Slytherin common room. The place that had been his retreat and his sanctuary for so many years. It wasn't now, but he stepped inside when a late-running student came out the door. He didn't even have the password to get in the door now. This place didn't belong to him anymore.

It was empty. The familiar dark furniture and the green tinge at the windows from the lake water above it.

There was a silence down here like nowhere else, as if the water absorbed all noise. This place had been such a large part of him, but it wasn't anymore. He was a foreigner here now, a strange. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be here.

Sitting down on the sofa, he looked around. Everything looked familiar, but now distance. As if looking back at an old photograph with fondness. This wasn't him anymore. Everything he knew about him wasn't him anymore. And nothing good had replaced it.

Slowly, he pulled his wand out of his jacket pocket and put it down across his lap. Black handle with brown wood. It wasn't his. The connection with his wand had been broken and this was a replacement. There was nothing wrong with it. It worked well enough, but it wasn't his. His was lost—like everything else.

With a deep sigh, he looked down on it, but felt nothing. His own wand had been as important to him as his limbs, part of who he was, but that was gone now. Potter had stolen it. This was a mere tool.

Wrapping his fingers around it, he lifted it up and pointed it to the dome ceiling of the common room where the dark liquid of the lake pressed on the glass. A crack and it would give, flood the entire common room.

His hand shook slightly, but he kept the wand firmly pointed at the ceiling. It would be easy. Only a moment. The water would flood in, crush him and then carry him away. Release and relief. So easy. Just a little spell and all this would be over.

But as moments passed, he still hadn't uttered the spell. It wasn't cowardice. He'd done worse things than this. There was no reason not to. Truthfully, he couldn't think of a single reason not to. Maybe his mother. His mother would be destroyed, but that had been the justification for so many things he'd been forced to do. Not even that reached him anymore.

So many people would be pleased—him being the inconvenient reminder of their own failures and cowardice. But Draco never did anything to please other people. If nothing else, he still had the need to be contrary, and for that reason, he retracted his arm and placed his wand back in his pocket. No, he wasn't going to make it easy for them.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Even though she'd changed the sheets there was still the slightest scent in the room of someone else. Hermione couldn't really describe the scent as she lay in bed, refusing to open her eyes. Male, a little spicy. She'd never even wondered what Malfoy smelled like before, but it was here in the bedroom, even as he wasn't.

This was intimate knowledge she shouldn't have. It felt wrong. It was like a ghost in the room.

With a sigh, she turned over and covered her head with the pillow to block out the light. Some mornings she didn't want to get up, wanted to just go on sleeping. Maybe get up some time mid-afternoon and rock down for supper, but she wasn't a person who could do that. Come daylight, her brain fired up whether she wanted it to or not.

She couldn't even remember what classes she had that day. Or was it the weekend? She didn't really care. The problem with giving up being a complete swot was that she didn't really know what to do with herself if she wasn't studying. Who was she without a book in her hands? Was that the only thing to her? It wasn't as if she was going to sign up for Quidditch. In fact, she didn't know if her dear husband would this year. Or even Harry. Was quidditch just a let down after taking on the country's complement of Death Eaters? But then there was something in Harry that sought something—thrills, perhaps.

With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Draco couldn't get into the bathroom until she vacated the room, unless he was rude enough to walk in here while the bedroom was in her possession. But he'd know that ran both ways if he did.

For a while, she stood under the warm spray of the shower, her skin starting to glow with the heat. It was cooling outside and the leaves were just starting to color. The beautiful decline to the hard winter. Truthfully, she couldn't think that far ahead. Christmas. Did she even want to celebrate Christmas this year? Having to show up to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's house and face their pity for being saddled with Malfoy. Surely Malfoy didn't have some insane notion of them spending it together. Of course he wouldn't. He was as committed to ignoring this marriage as she was. The last thing he wanted would be for her to spend time with his parents. Over her dead body did she want to spend Christmas with the Malfoys. A bullet in the head would be preferable.

Enough dawdling. She got out and dressed, and left the room. It was quiet out in the lounge, but not silent. Malfoy was still asleep. In fact, he looked tangled up in his sheets. Bare back and black satin pants. He didn't move as she walked down and into the kitchen where she poured water into a cup and heated it with a silent charm.

The scent of him was stronger here. A noise drew her attention back to Malfoy and he twitched slightly, then again. The muscles along his back tensed and then he positively exploded out of bed and almost fell over with the sheets wrapped around his legs. His breathing was hard and he looked utterly confused for a moment, until his eyes settled on her.

"Morning, sunshine," she said.

Tugging on his sheets, he threw them down on the sofa. "Piss off, Granger," he said as he walked past and up the stairs to the bedroom.

"Will do, but I'll just have my tea first," she replied with an eye roll. "Waking up like that in the mornings, I'm starting to wonder if you should really be in the looney bin."

He didn't answer. Had obviously gone into the bathroom and had closed the door. Regular ray of sunshine. Grabbing his sheets, she threw them onto the chair in the corner and sat down on the sofa to drink her tea. She could take her time. Malfoy took hours in the bathroom. Apparently it took effort to look so pasty. There might be an utter mess going on in his head, but his hair was always perfectly trimmed, never a hint of stubble and his clothes perfectly pressed. The precision of care he took with his own person was something that had been in him since day one. It had used to annoy her. Now she didn't care.

Finishing her tea, she put her cup in the sink and left the apartment. It was a nice day outside, sunny, but cool. The wind rustled the leaves in the courtyard below, and she saw a couple of students sitting on a bench.

"Hey, Mione," Harry said.

"Hey, Harry." She knew his voice before seeing him. His hair was a mess and he looked tired. "Is Ginny seriously keeping you up all night?"

"I'm not her favorite person right now. Had to sleep on the sofa."

"Sofa's not too bad. I have to sleep on ours every other night." It felt strange calling it 'ours'. "I mean mine."

"We're having drinks tonight. Why don't you come over? Just you."

"Yeah, I will not be inviting anyone along. What were you thinking suggesting I would?"

"Sorry. Just… I don't know."

"So why's she angry with you?"

"She saw me talking to Felicity Brown. We were just talking."

"Except she's seen you do more than talk to just about every girl in school. You can hardly blame her for being suspicious."

"Suspicious of what? I didn't do anything." He grew quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure I can handle this. Ginny's a mess. She cries all the time and accuses me every time a girl walks past me. I didn't do anything, but she doesn't seem to care. Nothing I do is good enough for her."

"Harry, you know she's not like this. This isn't her. She's just going through something right now."

"Yeah well, what if the war has irrevocably changed her? What if this is what she's like now?"

"She's not. We just have to give her time."

"I'm just so tired of dealing with this war. I just want something else, anything else."

"I know. I'm sorry. This is my fault."

"How is this your fault?"

"I was partnered with you. I switched with Ginny because I didn't think she could handle being partnered with 'him'."

Harry stared at her for a moment and Hermione worried he was going to explode on her.

With a sigh, she shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do. Ginny's so fragile right now. And Malfoy's… an arsehole. She cannot handle him in the state she's in."

Harry's intense scrutiny ended with a sigh and his shoulders slumped. "I do understand. I'm just not sure I'm constantly going to do and say the right thing to stop her from losing it."

"I know. I just didn't know what else to do."

"And now you're stuck with Malfoy."

"Eh," she said. "We stay clear of each other—mostly." Stepping closer, she ran her hand down Harry's arm. "Ginny will come back. We just need to give her time. And you are just going to have to find other ways of amusing yourself than being the town slag."

"Thanks a lot."

"Not entirely sure what part of that you are thanking me for, but I don't truly care. You going to class?"

"I wasn't going to."

"Hagrid's expecting us."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said, defeated.

-0-

After supper, Hermione went to Harry and Ginny's apartment. It was messy, but then Harry had never been neat. Ginny was sitting at the end of the sofa, absently chewing her nail. "Hey, Ginny," she said. "How's it going with your classes?"

"Good," she said without elaborating.

Ron, Dean and Seamus were there too, and Neville and Hannah Abbot. It was smokey and there were glasses and bottles all over the coffee table.

"Seriously, I don't know why they gave us kitchens. I don't think any of us have ever used one, and won't."

"We do," Neville said. "Hannah a dab cook. We should have a proper dinner party one night."

"Yeah, whatever?" Ron said dismissively. His eyes were glassy and his speech had that slight slur to it. He wasn't sober, but then it had been a while since she'd seen him sober.

Accepting a mug, Harry poured wine into it. It was decidedly mediocre and for a moment sadness washed over her as she remembered her parent's enthusiasm for wine tasted. So many summers, they'd cruised around France going from one winery to another. At times she hadn't fully enjoyed it, but she looked back with fondness now. Her parents were probably cruising around Australian wineries right now, having no recollection of her existing. They were happy enough and remaining in their memory was such hard work—and probably a bit distressing for them to continually realize that their daughter had simply slipped their minds.

Ron lit up a cigarette and the acrid smoke wafted into the space. It seemed that every moment of the day, he was putting something into his bloodstream.

"So how's life with Malfoy?" Ron said, acknowledging her for the first time. "Heard you went out of your way to be paired with him."

"Thanks, Harry," she said quietly and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Always thought you had a thing for him," Ron continued.

"Did you? Along with so many others."

"But it wasn't anyone else you weaseled yourself a pairing with."

"Weaseled? Maybe if you actually noticed something beyond the stuff you put up your nose, you'd see that some of us do what's best for other people."

"A regular martyr, aren't you?"

"Hey, mate," Harry said, interjecting. "That's completely uncalled for."

"Thanks for the wine, Harry," Hermione said, putting her mug down and rising from her seat. There was no way she was sticking around for this.

"Mione, don't go. He didn't mean it," Harry said.

"Off you go. Run along to your Slytherin hubby."

"Fuck you, Ron," she said over her shoulder as she left. Tears stung her eyes, but she hated that she even let him get to her. Ron was such an arsehole when he wanted to be—which was so very often of late. They hadn't really gotten back to where they had been after Ron had deserted them during the war. Things just never gelled like they had used to, and that hadn't changed apparently.

Walking with tight, firm strides, she sought the bench out in the dark courtyard. The chill of the air bit her exposed hands and face. In his self-absorbed rage, Ron even refused to see that she'd done this for his own sister. But who knew what he saw these days through his drug-fuelled haze.

Still, no good deed ever went unpunished.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

It had been a while since Draco had seen Marcus Flint, but was deeply surprised when he found him knocking on the door.

"So this is one of the famous apartments?" Marcus said, looking around. "It's tiny. And you have to live here with fucking Granger?"

Marcus knew it was true, so there was no point confirming it. "What are you doing here?"

With his eyebrows raised, Marcus turned back to him. "Just thought I'd come see how you're doing. Can't guess you're all that popular."

So everyone knew that? It wouldn't be hard to guess.

"I'm so lucky I graduated already or I'd be stuck in one of these fucking someone I can't stand."

At that point, Draco didn't know if it was better to state he wasn't fucking Granger, or just to leave any confirmation out of it, because Marcus probably would if in his place.

"Got anything to drink?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," Draco replied. There was a bottle of firewhiskey in his trunk, but he wasn't sure he wanted to bring it out. Then again, Marcus was the first person who'd willingly sat down and talked to him in quite a while. "I'll go get it."

For a moment, he worried about leaving Marcus alone downstairs in case this was something other than a friendly visit and his appearance was a ruse for something else entirely. In fact, turning his back on any of the Slytherins wasn't something he relished at the moment—let alone leaving the guy alone in his apartment. But perhaps he was being paranoid. It could be that Marcus genuinely wanted to preserve the friendship. For what reason, though?

As he entered the bedroom, he saw that Granger had hung her clothes up in the wardrobe. Draco bit his cheek. A bit presumptuous of her thinking she could have the wardrobe. It wasn't the time to deal with it now that there was a guest downstairs.

Grabbing the bottle by the neck, he returned to the living room where Marcus had made himself comfortable in a chair.

Draco brought two glasses over and joined him. He'd been solitary so long it was difficult to converse. A habit he'd lost.

Marcus was looking around. "Everyone thinks this new policy is ludicrous," he said, taking a sip of the whiskey. "They're going on about it at lengths. Some people are giving the Ministry hell for it. Just randomly pairing people off. The dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"How's your new position?" Draco asked, having heard that Flint had taken an entry-level position in the Department of Magical Cooperation.

"Yeah, it's alright." His tone was dismissive, which suggested he didn't enjoy it all that much. For a while, Flint had been intent of being a professional quidditch player. Guess it hadn't worked out that way. The quidditch league had more or less shut down during the war. It was only starting to come back now. Another thing people blame him for. "So you have to spend a whole year in this shithole, huh?"

Another question Marcus already knew the answer to. "Yeah," Draco said and leaned back. Why was it so hard to talk to him? They'd always have shit to talk about before, but now there felt as if there was a great big chasm, and conversation barely echoed across.

"So what happens next year?" Marcus asked.

Draco could only shrug. He had no idea. Had no clue what he was going to do. It was hard to see anyone giving him an entry-level position in a Ministry department. "Cross that bridge when I get to it, mate." The one thing he did know was that he and Granger would still be married. It was the only fucking certainty he had.

"How does it even feel like a year at Hogwarts with all this bullshit happening?" Marcus asked.

"It doesn't."

A soft noise suggested the door had opened, and it would only be Granger coming in. Draco could see the mischievingly expectant look in Marcus' eyes as he turned his head to the entrance. You saw her hair before you saw her. Coming in, she paused when she saw the guest, but she didn't say anything.

"Granger," Flint said. "See you made it through the war." Everyone knew she'd made it through the war.

Granger didn't want to talk, but she was being addressed. "As you see."

"You're quite the sly one. Always were." Hard to disagree there.

Without responding, Granger kept walking toward the bedroom. It was his night in there tonight, but there was nowhere else for her to go. Unless she left again, which she really ought to do. "There's this rumor going around that you engineered your pairing," Marcus stated.

Granger stopped.

"What?" Draco said, utterly confused.

"Yeah? Hadn't you heard? She threatened one of the Ministry officials who tried to stop it."

Irritation and disbelief rushed through him. This couldn't be true.

Granger only shook her head and refused to engage, taking the steps up to the bedroom.

"If you're so desperate for a pureblood to knock you up, I'd be happy to oblige," Marcus said, laughing. "Because I doubt Malfoy would ever get it up for you. I don't mind slumming it for shits and giggles."

Draco was still trying to get his head around this rumor. "What fucking rumor?"

"It's not a rumor," Marcus said. "Guess she just wanted to get in your pants and would go to some lengths to do it."

This didn't even make sense. Marcus sounded sure. "Total shite."

Marcus raised his eyebrow again. "She wasn't paired with you, mate. Go ask the Ministry if you want. But I guess it's official now. Hitched."

Blazing discomfort was running through Draco and he didn't know how to respond. He absolutely didn't want Marcus there right then, hated having to be accosted with something like this in the company of other people, particularly someone who was studying him for his reaction. So this was the reason Marcus had come, to deliver this news.

"Not that it matters, right?" Marcus said. "It's not like you're ever going to fuck her."

"Fuck no," Draco said dismissively. Unfortunately, he couldn't just ask Marcus to leave. There was no appropriate way of dealing with this, but tried and true indifference was the only strategy he had. "The minute I'm shot of her, she's gone."

"Did they make her sign a prenup and everything? I hope she's not in it thinking she's going to take half the Malfoy fortune."

Sadly there wasn't much of a fortune these days. Didn't seem to have occurred to Marcus. "Yeah," Draco said. "It was a part of the process."

"Thwarted then. Dumb cow."

Draco had to suppress the pulsing restlessness in his veins and chat with Marcus like this meant nothing, when all he wanted to do was rush upstairs and confront Granger. Why the hell would she do something like that? It didn't make sense. What was she looking to gain?

Instead, he had to sit with Marcus and have another couple of drinks, wondering why Hogwarts was letting visitors in anyway. Wasn't this bad enough without people coming in to watch like this was some spectator sports.

Finally Marcus left and the minute Draco shut the door, he flew up to the bedroom, where Granger was sitting on her trunk.

"What the fuck?" he demanded. "Is it true? Were you not paired with me and made it happen?" Her face was stoic and she didn't answer, then exhaled slowly through her lips. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What is this? You got some sick infatuation with me, because I hate to break it to you, but you literally make me want to vomit." That might be a bit strong, but an urge toward violence might not be far off.

"I had to," she finally said, confirming it was true. In all his years, he had not expected she would confirm this was true. He'd been adamant that the Ministry had done this to punish him, but no, she'd done this.

"You had to," he repeated disbelievingly. He actually wanted to deck her. Often he'd wished her misfortune, but he'd rarely actually wanted to deck her—even as she'd just about broken his nose in third year. "What fucking reason could you have?" His mind couldn't grasp a reason why she would do this. "I could be living with someone I actually get on with, but now I'm stuck with you. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Okay, he might actually strangle her to death. Wasn't there a betting pool somewhere about that?

Granger was avoiding his eyes and it annoyed the fuck out of him. He wanted to see shame written in her eyes, for this fucking stupid thing she'd done. Five whole fucking years he was committed to this because of her.

"Who was I paired with?" he demanded so harshly his voice actually echoed in the room.

"Ginny Weasley," she finally said, and Draco froze, trying to wrap his mind around it. Alright, it wasn't as if he wanted to be hitched to a fucking Weasley. Right now, he couldn't figure out how he felt about this, so he just blinked absently. A fucking Weasley. Was that even worse than this? "I knew she wouldn't be able to cope with it," Granger spilled. "She's just about suicidal and this would have pushed her over the edge."

Everyone knew that Potter and the Weasley girl were into each other, although, for some reason not together. Draco had never cared why. So from that perspective, it made sense that Granger would try to put them together.

"You were inconsequential to the decision," she continued. "Beside the fact that Ginny would probably rather kill herself than have to deal with you and your family."

Actually, he didn't know if his father would object being tied to the Weasley family more than a mudblood. It was really a toss-up.

"Because Marcus thinks you did this because you want to fuck me. And so does probably everyone else now. If he knows, everyone knows." Oh this was the last thing he needed—more attention on him right now as people all wanted to see Granger trying to get it on with him. Fuck this was a shitshow.

"I think you can believe when I said absolutely not. I don't want to be here any more than you do, but I felt like I had to, and you know what, I don't give a shit that it impacts you. I honestly don't give a fuck. You were not in my mind at all when I made the decision. I still don't give a shit about you."

That was actually comforting. It was as if something was right in the world.

"I fucking hate you," he said, unable to deal with her any more.

"Ditto."

"Get out of my room," he demanded. "If I could I'd lock you out of the fucking apartment."

With a huff, she flounced out of the room. Draco was so aggravated he wanted to roar, feeling his skin crawl at all this.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

With a groan, Hermione sat up and ran her hands down her hair. Everything was just a mess. Ron hated her, and all the school probably knew that she'd switched the pairings. People would assume she was infatuated with Malfoy. And Malfoy, well, it wasn't really possible for him to hate her any more than he did. Not that she actually cared. She'd acted as her conscience had dictated, and now she was stuck with this utter clown-show.

Another sigh and she rose to walk to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. They were only a week into this debacle. Ugh, it was going to go on forever.

Placing the kettle on the stove, she waited for the water to boil. Fruitlessly, she tried to think of some way out of this, like, could she put herself in a coma for a year and just wake up and this year would be over. But she wouldn't get her license, which defeated the whole purpose of this.

The door burst open and Draco marched out without even looking at her, which was completely fine by her. Dressed in his typical black suit and neatly combed hair. Didn't that ever get boring?

But the apartment felt lighter when he was gone. She could dress without feeling like she was sneaking around.

Pouring her tea, she brought it upstairs to the bedroom. Annoyingly, it smelled like him. Although the bathroom smelled more like the products he used. She swore he groomed more than she did. It apparently took a lot of effort to look exactly the same every day.

If only she had time for a bath, but she would miss class and this year was all about getting her license. So she would just have to go on like this.

Her stomach rumbled by the time she was dressed, so she headed down the Great Hall, where the noise of a hall full of children was like a barrage. Increasingly, it was fraying her nerves. As with everyone else, she sat down in the position she'd sat in for years. Only Neville was there.

"Hi, Hermione," he said, dipping a slice of bread into his runny egg.

"Hi, Neville. How is everything?"

"Good, I suppose."

Hermione could well imagine him and Hannah being ridiculously polite to each other, considerate to a fault.

Unexpectedly, tears welled at the back of her eyes and she cleared her throat. She didn't have that. Not that it was something she wanted, or maybe it was. Just someone being kind. It felt as though it had been so very long since someone had been kind to her.

No, there was no point thinking like this and she cleared her throat again. "How are your herbology special assignments going?"

"Well, I've just started, but it's very exciting." Neville went on to describe exactly why it was exciting to him. And bless him it wouldn't be to anyone else.

Professor McGonagall approached the podium. "Students," she said. "Although it appears quite a few are not gracing us with their presence this morning, I am sure the grapevine will leave them satisfactorily informed. In light of the unusual nature of our seventh-year curriculum this year, we are instituting some special events."

Discomfort rose up Hermione's spine as it did when anything referring to them was brought up, and special events didn't sound encouraging.

"The first, which will involve a suspension of classes for everyone—"

A cheer broke out throughout the hall.

"—is a partnered obstacle course. We've decided to hold this challenge before it gets too cold."

Partnered obstacle course. It sounded like a new version of hell. Maybe Malfoy was right and they were being punished. Looking back toward the far corner of the hall, she saw Malfoy sitting alone, his typical dark, brooding self. His eyes met hers for a moment and she could tell he was equally enthused about this.

"Each seventh-year pairing will compete for a trophy. It will take teamwork, communication and endurance," McGonagall went on.

"Well, that's me failing at the start line," Hermione said, imagining Malfoy as a stubborn mule who refused to move.

"The rest of us will, of course, cheer them on. It will be an enjoyable event for all."

Enjoyable? Had the definition changed?

"So after breakfast tomorrow morning, each pair will be ready to start, wearing appropriate clothing. I understand from Hagrid that some of the fields are very muddy. That should tell you a little about appropriate dress. Now, you may return to your breakfast. Class starts in fifteen minutes."

"Sounds like fun," Neville said and Hermione had to suppress a flash urge to hex him.

It sounded like utter misery to her. Although Malfoy and mud, together, held a certain degree of schadenfreude for her. Hopefully he was actually allergic and would break out in hives. Clearly they were going to lose this game. Was it an option to never start?

"Hey," Harry said, appearing beside her as he sat down. The person she was not too happy with right now. "I'm sorry about Ron the other night. It was bang out of line."

So was telling him, she thought with a scowl.

"Ginny not coming?" Neville asked.

"No, she's dragging her feet a little this morning."

Hermione had to wonder if they were sleeping together. Wasn't the idea that he would give it some time? Boys, categorically opposed to doing anything sensible.

Neville filled Harry in about the challenge the next day.

"Tomorrow?" Harry asked, his tone high. "Not sure Ginny is up for an obstacle course."

That was a point Hermione hadn't even considered. Neville and Harry went on to discuss which teams would likely be strong. Hermione only rolled her eyes.

When she looked over next, Malfoy was gone.

She saw the point of this, though, a means of forcing pairs to work together. Perhaps they weren't the only pair who were completely avoiding each other. Couldn't bring herself to call them a couple, because they absolutely weren't.

"I'm gonna go to class," she said and rose, noting that people were whispering about her as she walked past. Yes, the whole school knew that she had switched her pairing. And to them, her dumping Harry Potter for Draco Malfoy didn't make sense at all unless she was utterly obsessed with Draco. Because who in their right mind would dump the war hero for a detested Death Eater.

Well, that was just wonderful. Now she knew how Harry had felt when everyone was accusing him of things that weren't true.

Draco had literally not said a word to her since he found out, which was fine with her. Now this damned challenge. Was the world not cruel enough?

Class was dull and Hermione struggled to pay attention. Another thing she hadn't known before: how dull things were when you didn't pay attention. How she wished she could just get back to her old self—to get back her old self. Things were definitely less boring and miserable then. Obviously, it had its moments, but this was unbearable.

At least it was her night in the bedroom that night. A small comfort.

-0-

Unfortunately, Malfoy was at home when she got there in the afternoon, his presence adding a heavy atmosphere. He looked over at her briefly, then looked away. Don't worry, arsehole, I'm not trying to get in your pants. Never going to be a problem.

"Have you heard anything about this challenge tomorrow?" he asked as she walked into the kitchen and placed the jug on the stove. Her intention was to go upstairs and read a book until supper. Then return to said book after supper. This book better be good and engrossing, because she might fall to pieces otherwise. There was a lot riding on this author.

"No. Nothing more than what McGonagall said," she replied.

He said nothing.

"I suspect," she started, "that it was designed for pairs who are not engaging—forcing them to engage."

Again he didn't say anything and rose from the sofa to walk up the stairs.

"Hey," she called, but he slammed the bedroom door. "It's my turn. Prick."

Well there went her lie in bed and read plan. Obviously she could charge in there and have him on about it, but she really didn't wish to engage with him. She could imagine that suspicion rising in his eyes that she was doing it just to interact with him.

Clenching her fist, she wished she could deck him. He now had a complete excuse to blame anything on her supposed obsession with him. That went for everyone else too, who would probably question everything she did in that light—looking for some evidence. Well, they could all fuck off.

With a huff, she took her tea and brought it over to the sofa. Was she being a coward by not challenging him on taking the bedroom when it was obviously her night in there. Well, if he didn't vacate it after dinner, there would be hell to pay. Then they would have it out, even if it caused world war three. She was not giving on this, and her swapping the pairings was not giving him the excuse to do whatever he wanted.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The worst thing about not having the bedroom was that he had to wait for Granger to get up, dress, fruitlessly try to tame that bushel she called hair, and ultimately get out. Even if she wasn't awake, he had to wait and it annoyed him to no end.

Finally she emerged wearing a light blue jumper with a zipper up the front. Could only be muggle clothes.

Draco grumbled as he pushed past her and shut himself in the bedroom, where he pulled on his quidditch jumper and trousers, and then the heavy boots that went with them. Muddy was the only description they'd received about the planned activities.

Granger was gone when he got outside and as expected, she turned up in the Great Hall, sitting with her cronies. It was packed today. All those seventh years who normally skipped breakfast were present today, wearing all sorts of things. A few were in their uniforms, some were dressed as if planning exotic exploration in foreign lands.

What Draco expected was that it would include the Forbidden Forest—maybe the lake, but he hoped not.

Eventually McGonagall approached the podium. "For the day's events, it would be best for all competitors to sit with their spouses." The word grated. Over his dead body would he get up and go sit at the Gryffindor table. Granger didn't look intent on moving. She was whispering with her lot, then grudgingly got up and started walking his way. It felt a little like a victory, he had to admit.

She went to the other side of the table opposite him and sat down heavily without looking at him, instead turning her attention back to McGonagall.

"The starting line will be at the Archery range, and there will be a course to follow. Along it will be challenges that each team must work together to solve or accomplish."

Granger wasn't stupid. Physically she wasn't a great competitor. Not an athlete by any stretch of the imagination. The urge to win did try to rear its head inside him. A few years ago, it would be his only and intent wish to win this, if only to deny Potter if no other reason. But it was hard to even spark interest of that inside him these days. Fuck Potter and his incessant need for attention.

"Winning is not necessarily the aim of the challenge, but failure to complete the course will result in additional counselling."

There was a look of horror on Granger's face as she finally looked at him. Well, at least they agreed on that. They would finish the challenge, because the last thing either of them wanted was to sit down on a weekly basis to discuss their relationship with a well-meaning, but ultimately deluded counsellor.

"Now, I suggest you eat a hearty breakfast and the challenge will begin in one hour. Don't be late."

The food appeared and they were kind of stuck eating together. Draco went to grab some toast.

"Porridge has more lasting energy," Granger said with that annoying, tart voice of her that she used to direct her lackies.

Sighing, Draco drug the butter knife over his bread and took a bite. Granger diligently shovelled gruel into her mouth. Wasn't going to make her more of an athlete. They were going to have to go at her pace, he acknowledged.

"So it sounds like some kind of obstacle course," she said.

"Yes," he agreed, moving onto scrambled eggs and hot ham. When he finished, he stood and checked his watch. "Thirty-five minutes," he said and glancing over at her before leaving.

Out of the Great Hall, he walked to one of the courtyards and sat down at a bench to absorb the sparse sunlight. Things felt intolerable at the moment. He wanted to be drunk out of his mind. It had been a while. Alcohol, and other things, weren't impossible to get hold of, but he didn't trust any of the people around him to let down his guard. If he had a choice, he would right now be installed in some dark, seedy bar in Marrakesh, or somewhere equally out of the way, and deliciously drunk. Maybe during the Christmas vacation when he could get away from the family obligations.

It felt like a mere moment before he had to leave and go down to the archery range. It wasn't a hobby of his, so he rarely came here. Especially at the moment, when it wasn't prudent to go loiter around where people had weapons, in case an arrow 'accidently' flew his way.

The whole school was there, the competitors standing around and the others around them. Granger was there, standing with her crowd. Going over there was the last thing he wanted, but equally he refused to be scared off, so he headed straight there.

Potter, the girl Weasel, the real Weasel, who gave him the filthiest look and quickly stalked off, his Hufflepuff wifey in tow. They were all utterly silent and looking at him without trying to be too gawking. Potter wore his quidditch gear too, and did his partner.

"Malfoy," Potter said with a quick nod of acknowledgement. Draco returned it. As far as their civility would stretch. The awkward silence returned and Draco was quite pleased he was the cause of it.

"I don't know how long they've been planning this," Longbottom said after a while, wearing a sweater and corduroy pants, looking like he was ready for an exciting day in the library.

"I suspect it was a rushed thing, thrown together," Potter replied and then silence descended again.

Granger stood with her arms crossed, not looking at him. "Hopefully it won't take all day."

 _Depends on how slow you are_ , he wanted to say, but Potter would probably take offense and start something.

"There's no time limit," she continued. "We just have to finish." She gave him a meaningful look to see that they were on the same page, and yeah, they were, on this one thing.

And then the professors arrived, and Hagrid went on a spiel about how dangerous the forest was and to especially stay out of the way of any centaurs they may encounter. Maps were being handed out and each pairing had one. Magical objects would mark their map as they completed each task.

Looking down, Draco saw a configuration of about ten obstacles, stupidly named with words like love, trust, charity and loyalty. If any of those things were actually needed to complete these challenges, they were fucked. Maybe this was another form of punishment, something they couldn't achieve so they had an excuse to torture them some more in 'counselling sessions'. He groaned.

Flintwick was shooing people away, waving the large barrelled gun around as extra encouragement. "Ready competitors?" He levelled the gun at the sky. "You all have your wands, I take it?" he smiled evilly as he fired the gun. The noise echoed around them and some started running.

Neither him nor Granger started sprinting, and she turned to him. "I guess we'll just have to do this," she said.

There was nothing really to argue with, so he started walking in the direction the others had gone. No mention of a time penalty, so what was the hurry?

"I take it we're not planning of pursuing first place?" she asked.

"To prove to all and sundry what a stellar couple we are?"

"Good point," she conceded.

The cheering melted away as they entered the forest and quiet descended. A few couples were heard shouting somewhere in the distance, but no one was seen. Draco hated it. Nothing good ever happened in this forest as far as he was concerned. And sure as hell, something here was going to involve one of Hagrid's dumb beasts.

"I guess Potter will aim to win," he said.

"Probably. Ginny's pretty competitive too."

Grabbing the map out of his hand, she studied it. "I guess we are doing this one first," she said, pointing at the Valley of Trust. Fuck knew what that was.

"Yeah, we'll ace it," he said sarcastically, while another flash of yearning for some long distant bar worked through his mind.

They walked for a while until they got to this contraption, which wasn't by any stretch of the imagination natural. Planks up in the air, going all over the place.

"Instructions are being revealed," Granger said. "One must cross this peril, guided by the other. That's all it says. What's that supposed to mean?"

A blindfold emerged from the map and Granger stared at it for a moment before looking at him. "I think we're supposed to use this."

"Brilliant deduction," Draco said tartly. He looked up at the planks elevated far off the ground. It had to be fifteen feet. He sure as hell was not going up there.

"You'll have to do it," Granger said.

"Fuck off."

"I'm afraid of heights."

"You'll have a blindfold on!"

"Seriously, I'd prefer counselling."

With a growl, he swiped the blind fold out of her hands. He didn't trust her in the least and knew she'd quite happily let him fall off—out of spite. Was it going to be like this the entire way, her claiming she'd rather sit through counselling? Maybe it wasn't worth him trying if that was all she was going to do.

"You start over there," she said.

"Fuck off, Granger," he said and moved over. Something would happen to him if he didn't have the blindfold on. The course would be designed that way. He tied it loosely though, so he could at least see his feet. Those fucking planks weren't more than eight inches wide. "Just walk straight."

Internally he growled at the dumb directions. He'd just put the blind fold on. He'd seen the plank, for Merlin's sake.

"Okay, keep going," she called, from further and further below him. "You have to step left, no in three steps. I'll inform you of the instructions before you need to do them, okay?"

He was going to break his neck. He already knew it. Okay, Granger was marginally better at this than Pansy would be, who would talk incessantly and simply forget to mention he was about to step into thin air.

"Two steps." Granger had moved, which was disconcerting.

"Don't move!" he yelled, all his annoyance coming out.

"You don't have to yell at me!" Granger was losing her temper too. "Now left about eight steps. Don't lose your balance, it's about a hundred feet down."

He didn't know if she was serious—she could be. Wouldn't put it past the professors to do something shitty like that. But her voice wasn't further away, so she was trying to psyche him out. Bitch.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

First challenge complete. Hermione wished she had a pen so she could check it off, but hadn't really invested in this challenge to the degree where she'd planned for it. Winning the challenge was akin to helping Malfoy win the challenge. Malfoy winning anything was in no one's interest. Although he wasn't quite the brat he had used to be, his surly unpleasantness had changed form to relentless simmering broodiness. At least he stayed clear, which was a sight better than when he was constantly trying to be in their faces.

"Alright, let's get this over with," Mr. Surliness complained as he made it down from the elevated gangway.

They walked in the direction of the next challenge, The Marsh of Dependability. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.

Their pace was slow. Neither of them particularly enthusiastic. He'd done the challenging part last time, so now it was her turn.

There were no sounds from the other couples anymore—only the stillness of the forest and the odd bird squawk. And the sounds of their footsteps. If only she was married to someone she could at least talk to. Anyone would be better. Again she felt regret at the rash decision she'd made, but whenever she went back and view it, she didn't see another choice. She would have made the same decision again, prepared to take the suffering with it. So perhaps now she shouldn't complain so much.

They arrived at a glen and sure enough, there was a marsh in the middle of the forest. Sodden ground and plants growing, probably all sorts of amphibians and critters living in there.

"What the fuck?" Malfoy said.

Hermione opened the map. "'One must sacrifice for the other,' it says."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. The name of the challenge is the Marsh of Dependability, so one must cross dependably?"

"Well, whatever," Malfoy said. "Off you go."

"It can't be that simple."

"Why not? It's your turn," he said, crossing his arms.

Hermione growled. "Fine."

The mud squelched under her feet as she walked in. Or were they supposed to construct some kind of way to walk across without tramping through the actual marsh? The environmental people would balk at this. But there was nothing around. No construction material, or ropes, or anything, which suggested they just had to tramp through the damned thing.

"No, honestly, take your time," Malfoy said behind her.

"Go to hell," she muttered, ignoring him. If he wanted it to go faster, he could have done it. "This has nothing to do with support, though."

"Just get a move on."

It literally sucked at her legs when she pulled her feet out. It was revolting, slimy and cool. Malfoy was walking along the edge of the marsh. They could easily walk around it, but that clearly wasn't the point.

"For fuck's sake, Granger. Are you going to spend all day here?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," she called, frustration rising up her belly.

Her foot slid off a rock and she had to guard her balance, or she would fall over into the mud. She literally hated this. Her legs were covered in mud and if she wasn't careful, she would be completely covered in mud. Maybe they were doing this all wrong and they were supposed to construction something with magic.

Pulling her wand out, she tried to construct a bridge, but nothing happened. The place was warded against magic. So no, they were supposed to do this in person.

Quelling her disgust, she forced her feet on, taking step after step until she waded up the other side. Malfoy was waiting with crossed arms. Finally arriving on the shore, she pulled out the map, but nothing happened. "Argh, that wasn't it," she said. "Maybe you're supposed to do it."

"Why should it be me?"

"I don't know. Maybe because this is a chauvinistic and patriarchal society and they have some stupid notion of the man supporting a woman. So, your turn."

Malfoy's mouth was drawn tight and he so wanted to argue, but couldn't find a reason to. "Well, if you hate this society so much, why are you still here?"

"To make it better, of course," she stated. It wasn't something she necessarily saw as her mission in life, but right now it would be the most annoying thing she could say to him. "God knows you arseholes need help."

"Not from the likes of you."

"Oh really, because they've collectively decided that your presence is no longer desired." Again, Malfoy looked like he wanted to argue, but how could you argue with sheer logic and plain truth. "So back you go."

It looked like he was going to lose his composure for a moment and his mouth went even tighter before he marched back around the lake and through the marsh, the mud squelching loudly as he powered through. Had to be exhausting walking through mud at that rate, but then Malfoy had never been reasonable.

Looking down, she saw no change on the map and groaned. "That wasn't it either. Clearly support is the key word."

"Meaning what?"

"Do I have to spell it out to you?"

Malfoy refused to answer, only glowering at her.

"You have to carry me," she said. "It can be the only thing it means."

"Why me? You can do it just as well."

"Oh, you want me to carry you? That's going to work well. Trust you to propose the stupid solution. How exactly do you see that playing out?" Could she even carry him?

"How about I drag you by your feet?"

"How about you do what you're supposed to do and stop messing around?"

Now it was Malfoy turn to vent his frustration in a growl. "For fuck's sake. Let's get this over with."

He walked back around the marsh ahead of her and refused to look at her when she got there.

"Uhm," she said when she couldn't quite see how this was going to work. Piggyback seemed the best option. She couldn't exactly see Malfoy carrying her across like some hero in one of Mrs. Weasley's novels. Stepping behind him, she put her hands on his shoulders. This might be the first time she'd actually touched him on purpose. He was tall.

She jumped up onto his back. Well, this was awkward. Much too close. She tried to shift.

"Sit still, damn it," he growled. She almost fell off when he moved and had to wrap her arm around his shoulder. This was seriously uncomfortable. Malfoy's hands on her thighs, pressed to his back.

With large steps, he walked into the mud. It was a lot harder trying to do it carrying someone. She felt him working hard with each step.

"If you drop me, we'll probably have to start again," she said.

"Thanks for stating the obvious. How exactly do you score the highest marks?"

"Because I'm just smarter," she said loftily, feeling the need to be contrary, particularly as she felt so useless sitting there like a lump on his back. Having Malfoy support her really sat wrongly with her. The uncomfortable truth was that he was stronger than her. It hadn't always been the case. Being a Death Eater was apparently quite physically demanding.

And there was that scent again, the one that lingered in the bedroom after he'd left.

It was hard work, but he made it through and just about threw her down when he got to the other side. Hermione wanted to swear, but decided she didn't care enough.

The complete signal appeared on the map. Malfoy's head bent over it. "Thank fuck for that," he said and started marching in the direction of the next challenge. The Cave of Honesty. Well, that was going to be fun.

"Honesty," Malfoy said. "You'll struggle with that one."

"Oh please. And you won't?"

"I didn't lie and cheat."

"You've lied and cheated your whole life."

Malfoy stopped and turn to her. "How exactly? Explain when I've cheated. I certainly know some point when you have. You being here is a result from of you cheating."

That was bound to come up, wasn't it. He'd just been waiting for an opportunity. Get over it. "Oh, would you have preferred doing this with Ginny Weasley?"

"Maybe. I'll never know, because you CHEATED."

"Grow the fuck up."

"Grow up? You and your posse have always been sanctimonious arseholed who've always bent the rules to suit yourself. So don't come accusing me of lying and cheating."

"We are a fucking Death Eater."

"Were," Malfoy cut in.

"If that's not lying and cheating, I don't know what is. How about bullying? You've done it your whole miserable life."

Reaching forward, he shoved her hard enough that she fell backward on the ground. "Really, have you seen Marietta Edgecombe's face lately?"

"She deserved it."

"So did you, you hypocritical, spiteful cow. And your pathetic friends."

Shooting up, Hermione connected her fist to his face.

"Owwh," he howled as he stepped back, blood gushing out of his nose. "Bitch. And if you don't get your way, you always resort to violence."

"Ditto, darling," she said harshly. Well, he was a Death Eater and that by nature was violent, even if he tended to shrink away from violence himself. Crabbe and Goyle had always done is dirty work. Okay, maybe hitting him wasn't the best idea. He just made her so mad. As with third year, it built and built, and in the end, her frustration got so high it ended up with her socking him in the face. It wasn't perhaps the most mature way of dealing with him, but he absolutely drove her insane.

Pulling out his wand, he fixed his nose. Quite skilled, if she had to admit it. Clearly he'd fixed broken noses before. Maybe required skills for Death Eaters.

"I fucking hate you," he said.

"Something we utterly agree on. And if you think I am ever going to apologize for what I did, because you would have an easier time bullying Ginny, you can just keep dreaming, because it's never going to happen. And I'm not sorry. You," she said, pointing her finger at his chest, "can suck it."

"Eloquent as always. A little push and the harridan comes out."

"Well, don't push me. I don't take it well."

"You don't take not having your way well."

Maybe she had to give him that as she'd just broken his nose. Who knew what trouble she would be in if he reported her. Domestic violence would definitely result in a whole lot of counseling, and she was undeniably guilty of it. Well done, Hermione, she told herself. Not only had she just handed over ammunition to him, but she'd completely lost her cool. Unlike third year, punching him in the face didn't leave her proud now. Still, she couldn't bring herself to apologize. It was just beyond her. There were years and years of resentment that forbid her from doing it, even if it was due.

Closing her eyes, she groaned. This was the core of their problem—literal years of resentment and hate.

"I shouldn't have hit," she said through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry. I didn't quite hear that."

"I am apologizing for losing my temper and hitting you."

"How about you apologize for hitting me in third year too while you're at it?"

"For hitting you when you were sorry an innocent creature wasn't executed?" she said with utter incredulity.

"I still have a massive scar on my arm. Anyone can literally do anything to me and be justified in your book. Is there any limit to what I deserve in your eyes?"

"Should I feel sorry for you?"

"You're so fucking self-absorbed. You always have been."

"It's hard to feel sorry for people who bring things on themselves."

Malfoy stepped closer menacingly and there was hardness in his eyes. For a moment she was afraid, worried that he would lash out at her. "Just stay out of my way," was all he said and he stepped away, turning his back on her. He could be menacing when he wanted to, and not like he's tried as a kid. This was something else, something darker.

"Not really possible when we're stuck doing this challenge together." Her complaint fell on deaf ears. He wasn't engaging with her anymore. He wasn't waiting either.

A/N ***GIVEAWAY*** With the launch of my new 'New Adult' author platform, under the Shel Stone name, I am giving away three paperback copies of the first book I've launched under that name, _Better Run_. These stories are a little more like the stories I write here. Link in my profile. If the link is not working, send to camille dot osternz at gmail dot come and I will enter you manually.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Draco had just about lost his cool there for a moment and he breathed deeply as he walked in the direction of the third challenge. Not that he wanted to do this challenge at all, but the threat of sitting there doing counselling with Granger was a fate far worse. He even considered quitting school altogether, but it would be handing all those fuckers a win—including her. She'd like nothing better, he was sure.

No, he would just have to suck it up and deal with these challenges. He heard her walking behind him, not approaching. Perhaps that was for the best.

"I think it's over to the left a little," she stated. Even her voice sent discomfort up his spine. And he couldn't really blame this on the vague 'them'. This was all Granger's doing.

In front of his were some bushes and a rocky knoll with a clear entrance.

"That has to be it," Granger said, catching up with his. Her nose was down in the map. "The Cave of Honesty. Yay," she said weakly.

"Let's get this over with," he said and walked into the cave.

"I hope we don't have to take verita-serum."

"Why? Will you confess that you have a raving infatuation with me?" Draco asked.

"Ugh," she said and moved to examine the cave. A small fire sat in the middle. "The map says, 'Put hand on cherished heart and trice speak the truth.'"

Draco moved closer to the fire, only half listening. They had been out here long enough that he was cold. Traipsing through a muddy swamp hadn't helped. "Alright fine," he said, putting his hand on his heart. "You're ugly, you're intolerable and you cheat. How's that for truth?"

"Nice. So sweet of you," she said wryly, without looking up from the map. Putting her hand on her heart, she said, "Everyone hates you, and your whole family, Literally no one wants you here, and you should quit school."

 _Fuck you, Granger_ , he said silently inside his head in case someone was actually listening. Further motivation to stick this out—just to annoy her.

"Well, that didn't work. The map won't accept it," she said, flopping the map down. "Argh."

"It says hand on cherished heart," he said. "Besides the fact that we literally cannot tolerate each other's presence, the cherished is supposed to be your spouse, isn't it?"

"What, we're supposed to put our hands on each other's hearts?"

"That's what I just said. Maybe I should have said you're not quite as intelligent as you think you are."

Granger's mouth was drawn tight. "Fine, but I'm sitting down for this."

"Fine," he replied and followed suit as she sat down next to the fire and sighed deeply.

"You touch my breast and I'm taking teeth," she warned with her mouth drawn tight.

"Don't worry, your tits are completely safe from me." They were probably shit anyway. Didn't voice that because his face still ached from where she'd punched him.

Awkwardly she put her grubby little hand on his heart. It felt strange. No one had actually touched him on purpose for quite a while, except her recent fist. Now it was his turn. Under or over? Technically the heart was under, but he placed his hand just above the modest mound. Her body was warm. The warmth seeped up his fingers.

"Alright," she said and repeated her declaration of what she thought about him, more or less verbatim, and so did he. As soon as it was done, she pulled her hand away like he burned her and consulted the map. "It didn't work. What the hell?"

"Maybe this is supposed to be more difficult than us simply point out perceived flaws in each other," he said.

"There is nothing perceived about what I just said. Plain fact."

Draco pressed his lips together and then smiled tightly. "Whatever. Did you get the point I just made?"

"Yes, I got your stupid point. It needs to be positive," she shot back and sighed again. Lifting her hand, she placed it on his heart again. He did the same. Merlin, they looked like idiots sitting there. She looked reticent to speak. "Alright fine," she said aggressively. But it didn't seem to come out. She looked him in the eyes and it felt even more awkward. "I, uhm…"

"Seriously, take your time. I'd love to be here all day."

This looked really difficult for her. "You're good at playing Quidditch."

His eyebrows rose. It was the strangest thing hearing a compliment come out of her mouth.

The second one was even longer coming. It even looked like she was in pain. "You dress really well. Maybe even the best dresser in the school."

Yeah well, his clothes cost a fortune, so hardly surprising.

"And," she started slowly. "I know that there were times when you tried to help us."

Draco flinched. It wasn't something he'd expected her to say, and in a way it both hurt and left him feeling a little vindicated. None of them had ever acknowledge any of the things he'd done to thwart Voldemort. It was only the things he'd done to help that they ever pointed out. The things he'd been forced to do. Granted there had been times when he'd justified the things they were forcing on him, but increasingly it had been duress that had driven him. None of which the golden trio had ever acknowledged. According to their narrow view of the world, any sacrifice should be borne to thwart their enemy.

It was a big admission that she acknowledged this, one he hadn't expected her to make. It twisted inside him, tearing at something.

Her hand was still on his heart, waiting for him to have his turn. "Right," he said, tearing himself away from the path his mind was heading down. "Well, uhm." Okay, this was hard. "You've got a really good right hook."

"It's supposed to be a compliment."

"It is a compliment."

With a roll of her eyes, she shook her head.

"Uhm, you have nice teeth."

"You know I changed them, so that doesn't count. It's a hidden insult. The cave isn't going to qualify it."

"Fine," he said tersely. "You don't bend under pressure." It was true. Even as Bellatrix had tortured her, she'd never broken, not really. It was something he admired about her. "And you smell nice," he finished quickly.

"What?"

"Well, not now as you smell like swamp and dirt." He didn't know where to put his eyes. For some reason, that admission felt even more awkward than the others—even his admiration for her fortitude.

"It's accepted it," she said, bringing his attention back from surveying the cave. He hadn't even known this was here, not that he'd even wanted to know about the caves in the forbidden forest. He hated this place. "We're done. Actually it says the challenge is complete."

"What?" They were done with this crap? "Thank fuck for that." This was over.

"I guess we just head back to the castle."

"I'm first in the shower."

For a moment, she looked set to argue, but clearly didn't feel it was worth the effort. And considering he could technically have her up on domestic violence charges, she should probably let him have that fucking shower.

His nose was fixed, but that didn't stop it being sore. Actually, he might go have a bath in the prefect's bathroom. Technically he wasn't a prefect, but that wouldn't stop him from using it, unless they'd changed the password. He might even be in the mood to beat someone up to get the password if it had. Last year, it had been his exclusive bathroom. Now, no one wanted him to have any privileges at all.

They walked in silence back to the castle. He felt exhausted, drained both physically and mentally. It meant something to him that she had acknowledged his position during the war, not just the 'you're evil' rhetoric. It was so easy just to dismiss it and refuse to acknowledge how difficult his position had been. It wasn't something anyone had acknowledged before—even his parents who preferred the strategy of overlooking the war had happened at all. A highly unfortunate period never to be mentioned again.

Other couples were back. They were certainly not the fastest to get through the challenge, but theirs might have been one of the hardest, considering how far apart they were in all things. But somehow they had gotten through it without having to incur counselling.

"You take the shower," he said when back in their apartment.

The consideration was surprising to her, but it wasn't consideration—he was just preferring a bath instead. Grabbing his clothes and a towel, he left. There was something settled between them, something deep. She was still annoying beyond anything he'd ever know, but there was something that had stilled. Who would have thought that would ever happen. Obviously it changed nothing, but maybe there was a little less nails on chalkboard every time she entered their shared domain. Wouldn't go so far as to say he was grateful.

A/N The giveaway for paperback copies of my 'Better Run' book is still open, but unfortunately none of the links in my profile work, so to enter, please email me at camille dot osternz at gmail dot com.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

A note had been delivered to their apartment, mentioning that all were free to explore Hogsmeade for the day following the successful couples' challenge. After the fraught day they'd had, they needed to blow off some steam by getting away from the castle for a while—and each other.

Hermione tapped the card on her hand and she wondered what she wanted to do. No doubt the gang would be hanging at the Three Broomsticks. There wasn't really anything she needed. Maybe some special tea from Madam Puddifoot.

Malfoy was in the bedroom, taking his sweet time and she needed to get in there to get her wallet. It would be a miserable trip if she had no money. "Come on," she complained and flopped her head back. Seriously, he took longer getting ready than she did.

They hadn't really spoken since the end of the challenge, beyond the occasional one syllable words. What did they have to say to each other. Quite a bit had been said already, and from her side, she just didn't feel the need to say anything else. It was an improvement she supposed. The things that made her spine crawl had been put to rest somewhat. She hoped it would continue, but it was Malfoy they were talking about—the one who had literally never been agreeable.

Finally the door opened and he looked over, emerging from the bedroom fully groomed, wearing his typical black suit. He could pull off other colors, but he rarely wore anything else.

"It's quite chilly," she said as he walked down the stairs. There was a book in his hand and he walked toward the sofa and lay down.

"I'm not going."

Hermione held up the card. "Hogsmeade weekend," she said.

With a grunt, he cracked open his book and started reading. This she hadn't expected. "You're not going?"

"No," he said. The truth was that he rarely did anything. In the past, he would have been one of the first to escape Hogwarts, going down there to spend up large. Had quite a sweet tooth if memory served.

But then it could be uncomfortable for him. People had not forgiven him for the role he'd played in the war. It was the reason he wasn't going—she was sure of it. In fact, unless he had class or needed to eat, he didn't really leave the apartment.

Walking into the bedroom, she grabbed her wallet and left again. "Alright, well… I'll see you later."

His acknowledgement wasn't more than a grunt. The guy had to be bored. Never left and the only visitor he'd had had been Marcus Flint, which frankly, anyone could do without. Besides that, Malfoy was utterly isolated.

So many times in her life had she wished everyone would turn their back on him and just shun him, but it didn't feel quite so satisfying when it actually happened. People were angry and they sought a reason to vent. Not entirely unlike she'd been doing. Now she felt a little bad, because she would have made his situation infinitely worse. And now all he had to entertain himself were books. It was a step above Azkaban, but not by a hell of a lot.

Maybe she should have asked him if he wanted anything from Hogsmeade, but she hadn't thought of it, and it would be uncomfortable. They'd just managed to settle some peace between them, without having to bring in questions about whether they should start doing each other favours. It wasn't as if he'd asked for anything. Really, if he needed something, he could just write to his mother and she would send copious amounts of it.

Harry and Ginny were waiting for her down in the courtyard.

"Malfoy not coming?" Ginny asked.

"No."

"Shame." Clearly she didn't think it was a shame. In fact, she looked relieved. Harry seemed uninterested. "Let's go."

They walked the road to Hogsmeade. It was a chilly morning, the fields bare and dark. Ginny was talking about the challenge. "It turns out people had to do different things. I guess the map picked things you needed and made you do those challenges. Which ones did you do?"

"Trust, sacrifice and honesty," Hermione said.

"Bet that was fun."

"I don't know if fun was the right words," she said bitterly. For some reason, she thought it wise to omit that she had decked him. People were far too interested in her and Malfoy's relationship.

"We had to do empathy, loyalty and play."

"Oh," Hermione said, wondering what that said about them, but then again, maybe it wasn't any of her business.

The Three Broomstick was packed and they saw Ron sitting with Susan, and Dean, without Daphne. That had to be a relationship that wasn't exactly thriving either. Harry ordered them drinks and returned to the table. Dean spoke about the trouble he'd had during his challenge, where Daphne didn't want to lift a finger.

"Those Slytherin girls expect to go through life without ever lifting a finger," Susan said. Her and Ron were sitting really close, and before long, they started kissing. Well, apparently their relationship had moved onto another level. It wasn't all that pleasant to watch, though.

"For fuck's sake, Ron," Dean said. "We're trying to drink here."

Ron and Susan wasn't the only couple a little bit closer than you would expect. There were a few spotted around the pub, whispering and giggling. Really, Hermione wanted to say. Some, like Ron, were apparently embracing this whole pairing off thing, but then some wouldn't need much encouragement to get involved with someone.

"I might go," Hermione said, feeling awkward. Harry and Ginny might not be making out in the pub, but they were clearly together. As were so many others. Sheep, she wanted to accuse them. "I'm going to buy some specialty teas."

"I'll come with you," Ginny said. "Better than sitting here watching Ron put his tongue down Susan's throat. I honestly didn't think they would hit it off. Goes to show that put two hormonal teenagers in a room together and before long they'll be going at it like rabbits."

Hermione gave her a scathing look.

"Not you and Malfoy, of course. Not even hormones would overcome that ingrained hatred," Ginny giggled. "In fact, there's a poll running on how quickly one of you will murder the other. Did I tell you?"

"I heard something like that."

The air was brisk outside as they walked along to Madam Puddifoot's. The bell chimed as they walked in and there were plenty of couples around looking googly-eyed at each other.

"Normally they try to discourage students showing affection like this, but this year, they're celebrating. Teenage pregnancies all the way," Ginny said. "I swear some of them are trying to see who'll get pregnant first. Honestly, my money's on Susan."

This wasn't stuff Hermione wanted to think about, but it did go to show that there wasn't going to be anything happening for her on the love-life front this year—largely because all the guys were married. No one was going to ask her to the Yule Ball. No one to flirt with the whole year. Not that she was dying to flirt with someone, but a total drought wasn't fun either.

Watching people kiss was a lot more disgusting in person than it was on TV. Cringe-worthy, actually. Ignoring them, she walked over to the wall where different teas were displayed in glass jars. She perused them for a while. Obviously if Malfoy was paired with Ginny, there wouldn't be anything happening between them anyway. And her and Harry—no, that was just wrong. At least Harry and Ginny were having a good time. And apparently Ron.

She chose a Siamese Ginger tea and a Cairo spice blend, and received them in paper packets. "Okay, I'm done," Hermione said and hurried out of the shop, as if all these hormones were contagious. "Look, I might head back. You should go back to The Three Broomsticks."

Truthfully, she didn't want to go back to her apartment, but she wasn't in the mood to sit around in the pub and watch people flirt with each other, or worse.

"Ron's being a bit of a pig, isn't he?"

"No, I'm glad they're getting on so well. Didn't expect it, but maybe they actually are quite well suited."

"If I'm honest. I think Dean and Daphne might not be as bad together as he makes out. I think he likes her more than he lets on."

That was exactly what Hermione wanted to hear. Not that she was interested in Dean, but it seemed everyone was getting into someone. "Yeah, maybe," Hermione said with a smile. "I'll see you later."

Hermione walked slowly back to the castle, but had nowhere to go other than her apartment. Maybe she would hop into bed with a good book and her new tea. It was appealing, especially as it was starting to rain.

Malfoy wasn't there when she walked in. With curious relief, she made her tea and then took the mug up to the bedroom, where she settled into the bed. The bed was hers tonight, so she might as well claim it now.

It wasn't the most exciting story she was reading. The memoirs of some witch who liked to cause trouble, but she had nothing else.

"Oh, you're here," Malfoy said, appearing at the door. He was wearing his Quidditch gear again and he was dirty. "I need a shower."

"Uh," Hermione said awkwardly, feeling as if her space was being invaded. But he wasn't waiting for her permission and walked in. Whatever he'd been doing, it had been muddy and he pulled the jumper over his head, dropping it down on top of his trunk.

It happened so fast, Hermione hadn't had a chance to do anything as Malfoy pulled his shirt off, baring his back. He stayed facing away from her, but it was the first time she had seen him undressing.

"Been down at the Quidditch pitch?" she asked, trying to ignore him.

"Needed to blow some steam." He liked to fly—she knew that much about him. His back was broad and pale. There were scars she hadn't known were there, but she knew it wasn't something he'd want to be asked about. He didn't like speaking about anything that had happened during the war. Couldn't blame him. Neither did she if truth be told. "I might, ah, leave you to it."

Without paying her any attention, he grabbed a towel and walked into the bathroom, closing the door. The water went on and Hermione didn't quite know what to do. Pulling on the silk kimono her mother had given her for Christmas one year, she grabbed her empty tea cup and left the bedroom. She could hear the water cascading off a body. He was naked in there and it was quite a jarring thought. A far as she had ever considered, Malfoy only ever came with his suit or his Quiddich gear on. Obviously he'd had girlfriends in the past—Pansy being one of them, but she'd never been able to imagine it—him in a more delicate disposition. It was just… unnatural.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

An envelope came at with the post at breakfast and dropped down in front of Draco as he sat eating, and it wasn't the usual scented envelope from his mother on her fine Swiss stationary. Nor did it have the elaborate script of his father. Turning it over, he saw the ministry logo on the back and he groaned. Nothing ever improved by hearing from the ministry.

Looking around, he saw that others had received them as well. All seventh-year males. So not directed specifically at him then. Was he curious? Eh. Again, nothing good ever came out of the ministry. He tore open the side of the envelope and pulled the card out. Stiff like an invitation. And it said invitation. A Reconstruction Ball.

"You have to be fucking kidding," he said loudly without meaning to. They had invited him to a reconstruction ball? No, they had invited all the forced marriage couples to come to this thing, because they were a part of the reconstruction—maybe even the primary strategy.

Looking over, he saw Granger staring at him. Beside her, Potter had a card just like it and he was turning it over quizzically as though he didn't get it. Granger was staring at him with narrowed eyes as if he'd orchestrated this. Or maybe she was upset, because the males got the invitations. They did, after all, speak for their wives now. Mrs. Malfoy didn't like it. Or was it the fact that she now had to spend an evening being referred to as Mrs. Malfoy the entire night. It gave Draco an amused and spiteful satisfaction.

But it quickly melted. As amusing as it was annoying Granger, the fact was that this night would be hell for him. No doubt his parents would be there—which, in and of itself, might be hellish. On no level did they approve of his fate in wives, and they didn't even know she'd orchestrated it.

Pressing his lips together, he wondered if they'd find out. They were bound to. Too many people knew, and it was her friends that had blabbed about it. Might cause a problem. While it was all smiling faces and visible relief, there were a group of people who mourned the passing of Voldemort. Not the man himself, just the potential to grab power.

They were the group that was never part of the inner circle but hoped to profit from being purebloods. Anyone part of the inner circle knew there was no power, just subjugation. Voldemort didn't share power. They might have looked powerful from the outside, but they breathed or didn't on Voldemort's command.

Not that those people were a great problem. They were cowards and never truly showed their allegiance in case the winds changed, but they might have a problem with Granger engineering her position as his wife. Weasley would have been a better choice in the purists' eyes. And that included his parents—even considering how much Lucius hated Arthur Weasley.

This thing was going to be hell on multiple fronts. Potter didn't look happy, not truly comfortable in his role as war hero which these people insisted on wanting to celebrate. While the whole school had at times accused Potter of being a complete fame whore, Draco had actually understood him better. Granger might not believe it, but you didn't get by in the world without understanding your enemies. Something else he had learned was that there were true enemies in the world, and it wasn't your old school rivals. It was pathetic how people didn't see that—assuming there was still a long-standing rivalry between him and Potter. They weren't friends and they never would be, but they had a common understanding of what wrong things looked like.

Granger on the other hand was something else and always had been. Things had never settled between them. There had never been common understanding—and now she was his wife. There was certainly irony in that.

The people around her were talking animatedly. As opposed to others, she didn't look excited. Maybe she feared his father ripping her to pieces for what she'd done. No, it wasn't the end of the world—at least not unless they actually produced a child together. That's when his parent's discomfort would truly manifest. Besides, was there anything more unlikely?

Hogwarts was going to be mayhem until this stupid ball. The girls loved nothing more than a ball, and granted, Granger did scrub up when she needed to. Could look quite ethereal in a gown. Although she might choose to present herself quite low key for this occasion. He didn't know.

Girls were already approaching the teachers, pleading at their table for permission slips to leave.

Getting up, Draco left and sought the solitude of the library. One benefit being that Granger was never there. It was as if she'd deserted the place that had used to define her. None of them had gotten back to the persons they used to be, it seemed.

In one level, this ball represented a change of pace, but he wasn't sure he wanted it. It felt he was just keeping an even keel sheerly for the fact that nothing was happening. So in that sense, he feared this ball, feared that it would send him spiraling into the darkness again. Was there any way he could not go? Like with everything related to this marriage programme, it was likely mandatory.

-0-

"What are you going to wear?" Malfoy asked as Granger walked in. He sat on the sofa with a book, having skipped class.

At the kitchen, Granger repeated stroked her forehead with the palm of her head. "I don't know. I have the dress I wore the Yule Ball."

That was ages ago. "Not sure it will fit you. You're kind of… fuller." How the fuck did they get onto this conversation? "What about the dress you wore at the Victory Ball?" He hadn't been invited, but he'd seen the photos. It had been gold and large, and she had looked… healthy.

"It was borrowed."

"You need a dress."

Granger rolled her eyes. "I will transfigure it."

"Go to Madam Maulkin and buy a fucking gown."

"Not a great priority right now."

"Yes, a priority. I can't turn up at a fucking ball with you wearing rags, can I? This is all fucking bad enough without them all thinking I'm depriving you."

"You're not responsible for my wardrobe."

"Yes, I am. You're my fucking wife now. And they are all going to be watching how I treat you, very closely." Was it a good idea to admit that? He was just handing over ammunition to her and she could make hay at this ball. If she played her cards right, there might be a divorce in it for her, and a nice, long prison sentence for him.

Dropping his head back, he groaned. Was there any way this was ever going to turn out alright?

"Alright, fine. I'll get a gown."

"You need to ask permission for leave so you can go to Diagon Alley. Do you need me to come with you?"

"No, why would I need you to come with me?"

Good point. People weren't actually out to get her like they were him. Or maybe there was some pureblood nutcase that was. "It's just dangerous out there."

She snorted and it annoyed him.

"My family was the paragon of pureblood purism. There might be some who still hold onto that belief."

Turning to him, she considered him. Apparently she didn't entirely dismiss what he was saying. "Anything you know that I should?"

"No. All I am saying is watch your back."

"I always do." This was something she hadn't admitted before. But he supposed he had been a mudblood in a rising tide of purism, so perhaps she was naturally wary.

"Good. We're both the least favourite person to some group. Us joining forces—if you will—can be seen as particularly confrontational to some."

"Are you talking about your parents?"

"Partially," he admitted.

"Well, I am so looking forward to this ball. I take it they will be there."

"Of course they are going to be there, and we will probably be sitting together. Your parent and mine."

Naturally she looked uncomfortable, tapping her fingers on the kitchen counter. Yep, it was going to be a tense and uncomfortable night, his parents and her teeth-doctor muggle parents. The conversation would likely be riveting. And everyone else would be scrutinising them in minute detail. It was going to be sheer hell and if he didn't play this right, things were going to hell, surrounded by people he would have to try to manage.

A familiar sense of dread was creeping up his spine, and he recognised that for a little while, he hadn't felt it. But now it was back. The real world was still out there and all that was going on inside Hogwarts, inside this apartment wasn't real.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Hanging the gown up, Hermione looked at it. She'd had to ask Harry for the money to buy it. He didn't mind. Like hell would she had asked Draco. Him giving her money was not an imbalance they needed in their relationship. Draco said he was poor, but that was in relative terms—they were simply poorer than they had been. She, on the other hand, had no money whatsoever. That happens when your parents move away and forget you existed. Makes it hard to call up and ask for your allowance.

The dress was a pale lilac in some gauzy material, and it was beautiful. Her hair took infinitely longer to deal with than the gown, but in the end, she looked good. Even so, she wasn't remotely excited to do this. Others were. Excitement buzzed down the halls as girls talked about what they would be wearing. Didn't they get that they were being showed off as prized mules. This was all a PR exercise, so people who weren't being forced into marriage could alleviate their conscience and sleep better at night.

There was nothing more she could do here, so she left the bedroom. Malfoy was downstairs, wearing robes even blacker than normal. He looked up as he emerged and watched her, but he didn't say anything. Nerves flared inside her belly. She hated every part of this. Especially the part where she would be meeting his parent, being to them the worst thing that had ever happened to the family. Maybe a toss up between her and Voldemort.

"Ready?" Malfoy asked.

"Yes." She wouldn't have come out otherwise.

His eyes lingered on her dress for a moment, then he looked away. "We're using the floo network to get there."

Oh great. What you wanted in a ball gown was to stand in a fireplace. "Wonderful."

They left the apartment and walked in silence. Other couples were emerging.

"Looking good, Granger," Ernie Macmillan said.

"Fuck off," Malfoy bit.

"Easy," Hermione replied. "Thanks, Ernie. Ignore him. He's an arsehole."

Throwing a look at Malfoy, Ernie wandered off. "What's the matter with you?" she demanded.

"It's not helping the situation him shooting off his mouth, is it?"

"Are you fundamentally incensed that someone complimented me? Happens more than you would believe."

"Piss off," Malfoy muttered. Clearly in a bit of a mood. Funnily, his bad mood was alleviating hers.

There was a queue for the floo and Flintwick was pushing couples in, making things more stressful in his attempt to be orderly.

Guess they were traveling together. Would these uncomfortable embarrassments never end? No, they were going to a ball.

Their turn came. Hermione actually hated traveling by floo—portkey, apparition, broom, she hated all of them. They always made her nervous, expecting something to go wrong. Maybe tonight she would prefer to be spliced rather than have to go to this stupid ball.

The fireplace was small and they had to stand close. Her fear of travel was clear because she was avidly clutching Malfoy's arm, holding herself back from putting her arms around him. Then the squeeze, the sharp pressure change and the pain in her ear drums.

Unsteady, she almost fell over as they arrived and Malfoy had to hold her.

"God, I hate that."

"Come on," he said. The ball was in the large foyer of the Ministry, which had been decorated for the evening. To her, though, it had that stark utilitarian feel to it. So many of her memories of the Ministry were tense and bad. Now tables were set up and a dance floor. Oh, please don't let there be dancing.

People were milling around. Students and adults. Journalists, of course. This was a PR event above all else. Desperately, she searched for Harry, but she didn't see him.

"This way," Malfoy said, still having hold of her arm. She searched the direction he was taking them and saw his parents. Just about balked, but had to pull herself together.

"Evening," was all Draco said when they arrived. Both his parents were scrutinising her, and she wished she was anywhere else.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said in greeting. "Mrs. Malfoy." She smiled tightly as she nodded to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Lucius replied. Was he talking to his wife? No, her. Damn that caught her out again. The name sat so badly she wanted to laugh. This was not the time for a fit of giggled at how absurd this all was. "This is our table, I believe."

Looking down, she saw name tags, including hers, Hermione Malfoy. And her parents. Uh, that might be a problem.

"Where are your parents?" Draco asked.

"They won't be coming, I'm afraid."

Lucius' head twisted slightly to the side. "What a shame." He didn't sound overly distraught about it. Perhaps it was even a relief.

"That is a beautiful gown," Mrs. Malfoy said and Hermione smiled. Bet they would love that Harry had bought it for her.

"Yes, thank you," was all she said.

"Ah, I see the Minister," Lucius said an excused himself and his wife. And so the meeting with the in-laws was over. Hermione exhaled forcefully.

"Where are you parents?" Draco said, his arm pressing her wrist to his side.

"They're in Australia," she replied, clearing her throat.

"They couldn't come for this event?"

"Muggle travel is very onerous."

"We could have organised a portkey. They don't seem to turn up for anything, including your marriage. You have told them about all this, haven't you?"

Hermione was avoiding his eyes. "Does it matter?"

"They don't know?" he said, turning to her. "How exactly are you going to hide the fact that you're married for the next five years."

"Easy. They don't really have any recollection that I exist, so not that hard." He was staring at her, just about forcing her to go on. "Obliviate spell damage."

"They don't remember you?"

"Nope." Could this conversation please stop. He was about to say something else, but didn't. In fact, neither of them seemed to know what to do now and they awkwardly stood there.

"Brave of you to show your face," a man said and Hermione turned to see some man she didn't know. "Shouldn't you be locked up?" He was speaking to Draco. "Filth like you should be flushed away and forgotten. My sister is dead because of you."

Draco's mouth had drawn tight and his back was as straight as Hermione had ever seen it.

"Certainly shouldn't throw balls for murderers. Get the fuck out of here."

"Hey," Hermione bit back. "You're not the only person who lost someone in the war, and it certainly wasn't Draco's fault."

"Then whose fault was it?" the man challenged gloweringly.

"How about the arseholes who left a bunch of children to clean up your mess! So don't come here and blame him because—"

"Hermione," Draco said. "Leave it."

"What? No!" She stared at the man intently until he skulked away. "He can't just come and—"

"Just stop."

"The cheek of the man—"

"I don't need you to defend me," he said sharply. Was this what happened to him every time he went in public? Maybe even every time he left their apartment. Even she had done it inside the apartment.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what? No, can we just leave it." The irritation and frustration were clear in his voice. And it was even hypocritical of her to object when she'd been doing the exact same thing. She was sorry for it now. Like everyone else, she'd blamed him for the part he'd been forced to play in the war.

As uncomfortable as it was for her to be here, it had to be worse for him. Than man wasn't going to be the only one who felt that way here, which meant that mingling wasn't going to be all that fun. And yet they had to be here. All of a sudden, this whole place seemed like a minefield.

His parents were off smoozing. Too slick or too scary to receive the same treatment. In the distance, she saw Harry surrounded by people, worshipping him as a hero. Harry hated being here too. They all did.

"How about we dance?" Hermione suggested. "I feel like dancing."

Malfoy didn't move for a moment. He looked miserable. The look you always wanted on your date. "Sure," he finally said.

They moved to the dance floor where other couples were dancing—probably not for the reason that they would be left alone on the dance floor. They picked their spot, with Hermione conscious of the narrowed stares Draco was getting.

"Alright," she said with a smile as they were about to start. It had been a good idea, except now they had to actually dance. Gingerly, she put her hand in his and his other snaked around her back as she placed her other hand on his shoulder. And yes, he was tall. There was no way dancing wasn't close, was there? He led and she simply followed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. She was practically in his arms. Well, this certainly was a new level of awkward.

He spun her gently and pulled her back again. Accomplished was the only thing she could think. That he was quite a good dancer wasn't something she'd known about him. "Done a bit of dancing, have you?"

"My parents throw balls a few times a year. It has been a requisite."

Oh and there was that scent of him. It was getting so very familiar now. "Oh right. No, not a dip."

"Afraid it's required."

And with his arms around her, he leaned her back, holding her completely off balance for a moment, held up by his arms and she would fall if he failed. Which he didn't. "What is the point of putting a dancing partner off balance?" she muttered.

"Power," he replied with a smile. "That's the point. I have it, you don't."

"You're reading way too much into this."

"You think so? Shall we dip again?"

"No."

"Oh, I think we will." He spun her around and then drew her in for another dip. Well, at least he was enjoying himself—this little display of control over her he knew she hated. Also because that modest distance between them disappeared for a moment. Help. How many hours were they going to do this for?


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Draco stood by the bar and watched the glittering crowd, all dressed up in their finery. He hated the lot of them. It was actually true, he hated every single one of them. Across the room, Pansy was on the charm offensive, dragging her husband around like a complicit lapdog. Fletchley-Flinch whatever he was called. He looked a little like a dear in headlights. Well, as long as he did what Pansy wanted, no one would get hurt.

All these people she used to deride, she was now sucking up to with fierce determination. The winds had shifted, and she had shifted with them—they all had. It was all part of the game, and so where his parents.

"Another?" the bartender asked.

"Why not?" he answered and watched as the bartender poured another whiskey. Already he felt it mellow his blood and dull his mind like an anaesthetic. He savoured the taste of it. It was the good stuff too. The ministry hadn't cut corners on this ball, which showed they were trying to impress too. Everyone was out trying to convince everyone else they were better than they really were.

A hand clapped on his shoulder and Draco turned to see his father. "Splendid night."

Something had obviously gone well. There was a contentment on his father's face he hadn't seen for a while. Someone had made a concession. So many people were scared of Lucius, and perhaps they were right, but he wasn't that complex a man. The mantle of the family name weighed heavily on him and his every action was in its honour. And he loved his wife. That was all there was to know about him, really. It was when you got in his way that you had to worry. With the exception of Arthur Weasley, and Draco didn't quite know what had gone on there, it was never personal with Lucius—simply necessary.

"A whiskey," Lucius said to the bartender, who swung around to retrieve one of the bottles. "You really shouldn't be hiding in a corner, Draco. You are missing so many opportunities."

"Opportunities for what?"

"Don't be impertinent." Graciously, Lucius received his glass of whiskey and gripped onto Draco's shoulder as he turned, insistent on taking his son with him. "I hope you are not causing any trouble to Hogwarts. We cannot afford any scandals. Things are, unfortunately, a bit tentative."

They were at one of the tables, and Lucius urged him to sit.

"I am keeping my nose clean."

"Good," Lucius said and clapped him on the back. Then he looked around to see if anyone was within ear shot. "Obviously it doesn't need to be said that you should not under any circumstances let _that girl_ take advantage of the situation."

"The situation?"

"The perfect opportunity for a girl like that to better herself. None of us want some half-caste bastard running around." Lucius gave him a stern look. For a moment, Draco was confused. Who exactly was his father referring to? "I know she is pretty, but you really need to hold it together. A few simple years and we can be rid of her."

"Oh, you mean my wife," Draco said pointedly. With a thin smile, Draco took a deep sip of his whiskey. The bartended had been generous.

"Don't be facetious, Draco. Behave decorously, but don't let her take advantage of the situation. You know exactly what I'm saying."

His father didn't actually hate mudbloods. In fact, he had always been a little curious about Granger and her antics. He simply didn't want them dissipating the power of the family. Pureblood still meant something. They were still the top of the food chain, like it or not, and it served the Malfoy name to keep it that way. Mudbloods had to kept in their place, along with everyone else. Now Lucius was nervous because one of them technically had the right and privilege of accessing the family jewels—and he wasn't taking about metal and gems.

An image of him and Granger doing it flashed through his mind. But Lucius was so assured in his view of the world that he assumed there could be no possible way they could be. And he was right. Draco chuckled. The thing that his father probably feared the most right now was him fucking Granger. Well, he could rest assured. They could barely tolerate being in the same room.

"I know you understand how things are," Lucius went on. "I mean if you do something unfortunate right now, it would have consequences that would follow you for the rest of your life."

Somehow the rest of his life was a concept he'd given up on a while ago. For a while, he hadn't really seen a future for himself. In fact, he was still surprised he'd emerged from this war alive. You couldn't say the Malfoys didn't have luck on their side.

"Now, I must speak to some people. We all have to do our best for the family. You as well." Lucius rose and walked away, as cool and debonair as ever. It took a lot of Lucius to lose his cool. Voldemort had made him do it, and Draco was sure that was something that would sting his father for the rest of his life.

Draco returned to the bar for another drink. Nothing of what had just unfolded had surprised him. The drinks however were making this intolerable night move a bit faster. Before long, it was time to end this horrid charade and go home.

"You're drunk," Granger said appearing at his side.

"Yes," he replied. He was drunk and it hadn't really taken him a lot to get into this state. He wasn't falling down, but he probably wasn't one hundred percent steady. "I actually quite like being drunk."

"I didn't know you were a drinker. Come on, let's go."

Finally, he could get the fuck out of there. There was a queue for the floo, couples chatting and laughing. How was it that people had a good time? He'd forgotten how.

"Not sure you were ever disposed to having a good time," Granger said next to him. Had he said that out loud? He must have. He hadn't been drunk in a really long time either. Hadn't been safe enough to—had to keep his wits around him, even at Hogwarts, because anything could develop anytime.

"I'm drunk," he said, wondering how this was the place where he'd felt safe enough to get drunk. Maybe because his father had been there, no doubt deeply disappointed. But also Granger. Granger would stop anyone from hurting him. He frowned at the thought. Earlier in the evening, he'd told her he could fight his own battles, then had turned around and depended on her to watch his back. "You are my protector."

"And you are definitely out of your tree, Mister," she said, her mouth slim with disapproval.

"My father thinks you're going to rape me." And now they were standing in the fireplace, the familiar tug of floo travel was turning his stomach with intense nausea. He barely held it in as he stumbled into the wall of the fireplace in the Charms room. "Ouch."

"You're father's delusional."

Her arm was around his waist and she was walking him toward their room. "I can walk."

"Really, because you just fell into a wall."

"It was the floo travel. Compromised my balance." Still, he didn't force her away, because he wasn't one hundred percent certain of his balance, and he really didn't want to fall over in front of her.

"Potter sucks cock," Granger stated. It was still the password for their apartment.

"Yes, he does," Draco said, grinning. It made him smile every time he had to say it. Even more so when she had to. She still hadn't found a way of changing it. Had to bug the hell out of her. "I have the bedroom tonight," he said pointedly. He might be drunk, but she wasn't going to trick him out of his night. It was a point he was prepared to battle over if he had to.

"Whatever," she said, leading him up the stairs.

Only a mellow light inside the room and Granger was tugging on his jacket to get it down his arms. "I think this is exactly what father fears."

"Shut up," she said and then pushed him so he fell over, landing on the bed. It was so soft beneath him and he felt himself relax instantly. Somewhere over the edge, she was taking his shoes off. Then she stood.

No, this is exactly what father feared, her in that dress, standing between his thighs. If she went for it, he could do nothing to stop her. She could take what she wanted. An image of her riding him snuck in and he closed his eyes because it wasn't anywhere near unappealing. "I'm drunk," he stated. Was the room spinning?

"Go to sleep, fuckface."

"Eloquent. Is that the best you could do?" He wanted to elevate himself on his elbows, but he couldn't move.

"And if you throw up on the sheets, I'm going to rub your face in it."

Maybe that was not the right thing to say. Brought new images creeping into his mind. He was going to dream that night. It was like he had a quota for sex and if he didn't make that quota in real life, his body and mind made up for it in his sleep. Alcohol fuelled dreams of fucking were tugging at his consciousness already. Didn't even hear Granger leave.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The school was abuzz with how fabulous the ball had been. Hermione didn't know about fabulous, but it had been… She couldn't even describe it. Draco had gotten drunk and had because he believed she'd watch his back. Was that true, though? Yes, damn it, probably. It wasn't in her to let someone harm him when he was incapable of defending himself. In that regard, he had picked her right.

It was also abundantly clear that people hated him. No holds barred 'I hope you die' kind of hate. Still, for a moment, when torturing her on the dance floor, he'd enjoyed himself. Torturing her he enjoyed. And apparently he was going to be disowned if he knocked her up—which they could rest assured wasn't going to happen.

He hadn't come out of the bedroom when she'd left that morning. Was probably still sleeping off his hangover. How much had he drunk? It hadn't seemed that much, but then she had been paying attention elsewhere.

"So you and Malfoy were awfully cosy on the dance floor last night," Ginny said.

"What? No. We were just annoying his parents."

"Not so enchanted with their new daughter in law?"

"Did you imagine they would be?"

"I would have thought Lucius Malfoy would be using your status as a war hero to utmost benefit."

"He probably is publicly. Privately, I don't think he's changed all that much."

"Still, it looked kind of sexy the way he was dipping you."

"He did it because it annoyed me."

What was this? Was Ginny actually hoping something would happen between her and Malfoy? Or was she worried that something had? No, they could all rest assured. Nothing had changed there.

"We're going to Hogsmeade after breakfast," Ginny said, finally changing the topic. "Do you want to come."

"Uhm. Hang out with Malfoy all day, or leave here for a while with my friends? Tough choice."

Ginny checked her watch. "Well, we're leaving in about an hour. I need to go get my coat."

"Alright," Hermione said and took a bite of her toast as she watched Ginny walk away. A bit further away, Neville was eating with Hannah, talking quietly amongst themselves. It was as if they didn't even notice anyone else there.

With a sigh, Hermione acknowledged how cheated she felt—even as she had done this to herself. Not that she'd had a choice. The whole situation had cheated her. If it wasn't for this marriage law thing, she would probably have a boyfriend right now. Maybe even Dean. Growing up hadn't done him any disfavours, but it would just be too messy now, involving cheating and deception. Ick. It all made for one barren year romantically.

Finishing her breakfast, she returned to her apartment, finding Malfoy dressed and lying on the sofa, a cup of coffee sat right next to him on the table. She hadn't even realized he was capable of making a coffee. Maybe he'd ordered one of the house elves to do it for him.

He lay with his forearm over his eyes.

"Feeling spritely this morning, are we?"

"Fuck off."

With a chuckle, she guessed the 'you're my protector' sentiments were over now. Going upstairs, she retrieved her coat and then returned to the living room where Malfoy was in the same position.

"Feeling a little queasy? You missed all those greasy sausages and flavorful bacon for breakfast."

"Shut up, Granger."

"Ah, did you want sympathy after you did it to yourself?"

In the kitchenette, she made herself a cup of tea and they ignored each other for a while. She checked her watch. It wasn't close to being time to leave yet, so she sat down on a stool.

Malfoy was dressed in black as always. Looked even more pale if that was possible. His black suits were armor. He was always harsher when he was dressed like that.

"Apparently us dancing last night has caused some twitter."

"Fuck them," he stated.

"Resulting in the whole 'I'll disown you if you sleep with her' thing."

"What?" Malfoy said, lifting his head up. Then he groaned and flopped his head back. "I'd disown myself."

"Well, good. Keep that up. I don't want anyone thinking otherwise."

"Don't worry. That's not going to happen."

"I'm going to Hogsmeade, and as I am a kind person, unlike others, I will ask if there is anything you would like."

"For you not to come back. That would do nicely."

Hermione gave him the finger.

"Maybe if you didn't drink so much, you wouldn't feel like death warmed up. And then you wouldn't get completely plastered around people who absolutely hate your guts, which is generally the time you want to keep your wits about you." It was a little unreasonable of her to push this point, but something in her wanted to see what status she had as his protector now.

"You mean that night as opposed to any other night?"

"It was careless."

"Don't tell me you care, Granger. I don't think my heart could take it," he said sarcastically.

"We both know you don't have a heart, as opposed to your propensity to be careless. And because of those annoying dips you insisted on, people are starting to ask questions." Because apparently had been seen as quite sexy. She didn't mention that.

Shifting his head up on the arm rest of the sofa, he stared back at her. "Thanks for the advice Miss Straight and Narrow. Oh, I'm sorry, that was Mrs."

"Do not badger me with the 'Mrs.' thing. It is getting old."

"But it annoys you so much. Because not only are you Mrs. Malfoy. Technically, you are Mrs. Draco Malfoy. Your identity disappears completely under the hefty weight of mine."

"Careful, husband," she warned. Hermione's heart was beating fast. He knew she hated all the patriarchal bullshit the wizard society ran on. And he knew exactly how to twist her guts.

"Or what?"

"Or I might get careless."

"You couldn't do careless if your hair was on fire."

"Because, yes, you can annoy me, but I can annoy you more."

"I'd like to see you try," he said with a grin.

Jumping down from her stool, she marched to him. His eyes were shining with amusement and his hands reached out for her wrists to defend himself from whatever blows he thought were coming to him, drawing her hands away but also leaving himself exposed. With force, she kissed him.

Anger had drawn her here and there was still anger in the kiss, but also curiosity. She'd never even imagined what it would be like to kiss him. And it was… soft and warm. For a reptile like him, his kiss was surprisingly human. The taste of him wheedled into her mind. This was what Draco Malfoy tasted like—coffee and maleness. And that spice of his cologne.

Withdrawing, her lips felt bruised. She still felt the ghost of his lips on hers.

The look on his face was pure shock. Truthfully she wasn't sure she'd ever been this close to him.

"You have everything to lose and I have nothing to lose. So if you want me to find some way to annoy you, I'm sure I can." Her voice was breathy and she was sure he felt every word on his skin. The shock still had him quiet, but a knock on the door drew her attention away, and now he pushed her of him like she'd burnt him.

Standing up, she stared down at him for a moment. He was half raised off the sofa and it looked like he had no idea what to do, how to deal with this.

 _I won_ , she said to herself. If he wanted careless, he had just gotten it. Another knock sounded on the door, and Hermione walked to open it.

"Hey, you ready?" Harry asked.

It took her a moment to get her mind in gear. "Hogsmeade," she said absently. Then an enormous shove forced her into the wall. For a moment, she didn't know what was going on. As surprised as if the wall had come over to hit her.

Harry's hands were steadying her and there was a look of concern in his eyes. Then he turned his head. "Hey, fuckface. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Malfoy was matching down the hall, not looking back.

"Is he violent to you?" Harry asked, his face all seriousness. "What was…? What the fuck is wrong with him?"

Straightening herself, she took a deep breath. Malfoy was seriously pissed off with her. "Really, Harry, we've been asking ourselves that for years."

"Is this what he does?" Harry continued.

"No," she said, not quite knowing how to explain what had just happened. What could she say—that she'd just kissed him against his will? Harry wouldn't understand.

"You need to tell McGonagall if this is how acts towards you."

"It's complicated," she said.

"That's not—"

"Harry, just leave it. I am fully able to take care of myself. We're just having some fundamental disagreements." Harry was not convinced. "He thinks I am trying to get him disowned."

Now Harry looked confused.

"Like I said, it's complicated, and it would be fair to say that I am giving him hell."

Some of the worry was dissipating from Harry. "If he is getting physical with you, you need to tell McGonagall. He'll be back in Azkaban before the day's out."

"Although on one hand, that would be blissful, I'm not sure I would be okay with having him imprisoned because we are fighting."

"Fighting how?"

"Serious, Harry. What did you expect?

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I know this is because of what you did for Ginny and me."

"Don't worry. I'm winning," she stated.

"Not sure that is making me all that more comfortable with the situation," Harry replied.

"I'll just get my coat," she said with a serene smile. Inside her apartment, she drew a deep breath. It felt a little like she'd just declared war with Malfoy. Maybe it had been a stupid thing to do, but yes, he could very much annoy her into being careless.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Draco had nowhere to go. Anger was coursing through his veins, but he didn't really know why. Maybe because she was trying to threaten his wellbeing. It wasn't kindness or even interest that had made her kiss him. It was pure Malice—her wanting to make his relationship with his family difficult. Not that he had expected anything better from her.

Hall after hall passed and he still had no idea where he was going. People were getting ready for their treks to Hogsmeade and the castle was slowly emptying. Hermione would be one of them, so he could easily go back to the apartment.

What he wanted was a drink, but that would mean traipsing all the way down to Hogsmeade and all the unpleasantness that would entail.

Unwittingly, he ended up in the Great Hall, which was mostly empty, but he didn't want to stay there. As large as the castle was, there were few places he could go to be completely alone. The astronomy tower had used to be his place of solitude, but the place was corrupted now, imbued with Voldemort's evil and it only reminded him of the part he'd had to play in it.

In the end, he sat down in one of the remote halls where no one was likely to come. It bothered him how isolated he was. It couldn't be good for him—he knew that, but he had no choice.

Living with Granger had never been comfortable, but it was worse now. And why was that? Why was he so very angry? Because she had gone on the offensive in a very sneaky way. Should he be surprised? No, Granger was sneakier than people gave her credit for. Always had been. He just hadn't seen it coming.

Maybe he was so angry because for a moment, it had felt like they had settled a bit, had let a truce exist between them, but it hadn't been true. And maybe he had wanted it. Had needed it was more the truth of it. Maybe he'd wanted one front he wasn't battling on.

With a deep sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He wasn't proud of having run out of the apartment in practically a panic. What was there to panic about? It wasn't as if the kiss had meant anything. Maybe it was simply how easily she had gotten to him, because for a moment, he'd been shaken by it—which was exactly what she'd intended.

Was he panicked? No. Did her kissing him completely undo him? Hell no. There wasn't a girl in the school he hadn't kissed—well, almost. Now with this kiss from Granger, the list was more complete. A notch he hadn't expected to ever get.

Was she gone yet? Could he return? Fuck he was bored. Bored with being here, bored with trying to find space. He didn't want to go back to the apartment to just sit around. Then it struck him. There was one thing he hadn't done in a long time, that he loved to do. Fly.

That's how he would spend the morning. At least until lunchtime. Work out some of the tension, feel the wind, the air, his skill. The quidditch ground would be deserted and if not, he would make it so.

Waiting a few more minutes, he returned to the apartment and changed. As expected, it was empty. Left again with broom in hand, not even bothering to even return to the ground, instead jumping off the mezzanine walkway and taking off. Strictly not allowed, but no one was around. Even if they saw him, I don't think the staff were of mind to admonish him for his behaviour.

Flying over the castle, he veered toward the quidditch ground.

His cheeks turned pink when flying in the cold. Wind burn. It would stay a few hours and he considered himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, but he looked elated. He felt better. A simple pleasure, but it was his.

It had to be mid afternoon. Anger had left him. Granger would be home soon, and he needed to determine how to deal with this latest skirmish. Was he scared of her? No. Never.

If transgression was the new game, he could play that too. Although not entirely willing to admit it, there was a certain excitement.

The door opened behind him and he was about to tell whomever it was to fuck off, when he saw Potter through the mirror. The words froze in his throat. Potter, dickhead that he was, was one of the few people he couldn't push around. Engaging with Potter meant escalation, because Potter didn't back down.

No wand drawn. Well, that was something at least, because he hadn't forgotten Potter cutting him to pieces that one time. And the shithead only received a slap on the wrist for it. It would be the same now. War hero versus social reject. Draco sarcastically wondered whose side that would land on.

As Potter hadn't drawn his wand, neither did he, but it had been a mistake, because a fist crashed into his face as soon as he turned around.

Pained searched through his consciousness. Sadly, a familiar sensation. "Fuck," he yelled as he crashed into the basin behind him. His nose was broken—he could feel it. Plus the blood which was now gushing.

"You touch Hermione again, I'll kill you."

Holding his hand up, he was absently trying to catch the blood coming from his nose. He really should be hitting Potter back, but he kind of got why Potter was there, considering the shove that had happened in front of him. "Since when can't Granger fight her own battles? She's never needed you to fight her battles."

Potter was stumped for a moment, until he composed himself and redrew his original conclusion. "If you ever lay a hand on her, I'll end you."

"Well, if you want to talk about inappropriate touching, you should talk to her."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Like everything else, it's none of your fucking business, Potter."

Again he was stumped. Intelligent banter had never been Potter's strong suit. A skill Granger had always served out for him. While Potter was distracted by trying to think, Draco performed a silent Reducto charm and Potter flew back into the wall. That had to hurt. In fact, it winded Potter who was trying to catch his breath with whaling breaths. "You'll get kicked out of school if you start attacking students." Probably not true, but Potter would refuse to see that he was given special treatment, even as he always had been.

Potter finally caught his breath, rising staunchly to his feet. "Consider this a warning."

"Why don't you sort your own shit before worrying about anyone else," Draco said. There wasn't anything specific he was eluding too, but hopefully Potter would assign some meaning to it. Potter's jaw clenched. And apparently there was. Whatever.

With a last glowering look, Potter left and Draco stood up, seeing the mess his face was. With his wand, he healed the break, which hurt like hell. Magic didn't work as well on tissue. The wound was sealed, mostly, but it would take some time for it to settle.

With his wand, he cleared up as much of the blood as he could, but it couldn't entirely stop the seeping. Fucking Potter. Always jumping to conclusions and coming with the violence. Prick.

He could feel a bruise at the back of his head too from where he'd hit the hand basin. He'd be lucky if he didn't have a concussion. Tiredness seeped into him. Any rush and freedom he'd felt from flying was gone now. Getting attacked did that to you.

With some paper, he held his nose shut as if that would stop the bleeding. He hated getting his nose broken. Not that it was his first time. Always came with bad memories.

His quidditch gear was soiled, requiring more than a simple spruce up. Fucking Potter.

Face still aching, he left, before Potter changed his mind and returned. Or worse, the fucking Weasel found out. If Potter was dumb, the Weasel was pure moronic. Although typically he was too senseless these days to do anything.

"What happened to you?" Granger asked as he walked into the apartment.

"Flying," was all he said.

"Your nose is broken."

"Thank you for pointing that out. The realization completely escaped me."

"Did you try to heal it?"

He swatted her hands away from his face. "It's healed."

"It's still bleeding."

"Yes, that happens."

"You should be more careful. And you literally stink of blood. I hate that smell. Let me see."

"No," he said, avoiding her as she tried to look up his nose as if she could see the injury.

"I'm very good with healing spells."

"Actually, I'm not too bad myself. I've had some practice."

"I guess we both have," she said more quietly. "The break will be quite weak for a while."

She was telling him things he already knew, but he gave up trying to stop her examining him and just relented.

"Ah," he warned as she tried to touch his nose and she stopped.

What would she do if he told her that Potter had done this? He was curious, but he didn't want her running to Potter and trying to defend him. That was the last thing he needed. Getting your wife to warn off your bully was equal to getting your mother to do it. It just wasn't done by any self-respecting guy.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

The healing spell worked and the bleeding stopped. Blood was smeared over his lips and she leaned over to the sink and wet the dishcloth. It was relatively clean because they had actually never cooked anything in this kitchen. She didn't know if anyone did use their kitchen. There had to be someone showing off their culinary arts, but she had never been intent on impressing Draco with her domestic skills. Not that her spaghetti Bolognese would likely impress him all that much even if she at any point wanted to try.

Bringing the wet dishcloth back, she pulled herself up to sit on the breakfast bar. This was easier to do if she didn't have to reach up. When exactly had he grown so tall?

He said nothing as she wiped his mouth clean, was looking down and simply letting her. Then he looked up and it felt stark. Without actually moving, they suddenly seemed so close. Those cool gray eyes. Her breath held tight for a moment. How had they gotten here?

"You know, two can play the game," he said.

"What game?"

He looked down again and she felt relief from the tension, but that didn't last as he shifted his hand and placed it on her thigh. Then he looked up again. "What's it called? Chicken?"

His hand burned on her bare thigh—because she was wearing her soft lounge shorts, and she had completely forgotten. His hand moved higher. The sensation was jarring and it radiated throughout her. Her mouth had gone completely dry and she struggled to get her mind in gear. Chicken. This was because she'd kissed him and now he was… punishing her? Or playing chicken—in which one had to concede defeat to the other.

Should she give? Technically, she didn't have to. What would it mean if she admitted defeat? Was it like a permanent defeat, because she wasn't entirely sure she could cope with that. But could she cope with his hand creeping up her thigh? What would be the end game? How far could this go?

She was a bundle of indecision. How far would he go? Technically he had more to lose. Not that she believed for a moment he would go wherever this was heading.

"I think this is a venture neither of us would appreciate in the end."

"Really? I find I'm enjoying it." He was enjoying watching her squirm. "But then you set us down this path."

"That stupid kiss?" she said, trying hard to ensure her tone wasn't high and squeaky, or worse, breathy. But this was unbearable. And technically he was in the way of her closing her thighs. How had she been stupid enough to let herself get into this position. Because she'd never expected him to do this. "It was just a stupid kiss to prove a point. So let's drop it, okay?"

"Oh no, that would be cheating."

The sensation was unbearable. All she had to do was give in and admit defeat. Why was that so hard for her? Just do it. "So exactly how far are you willing to go?"

"I don't know," he said. "Isn't that the point of the game?" That infuriating grin was on his lips as he looked up, his eyes utterly cool as his hand was getting close to the edge of her shorts.

"Because you have everything to lose and I have nothing."

"Nothing? Is that true, though? Because I would tell everyone. Potter, Weasley, McGonagall. Tell them all that we fucked. How would you ever live it down?"

"You wouldn't dare. Because it would take you father all of two seconds to find out."

"You think he wouldn't forgive me?"

That had her stumped, as did him leaning closer and she felt his breath on her shoulder. This was getting much too… much. Because there was something in her that wasn't all that unwilling to simply give in—and not in the chicken game stakes. In the much worse stakes.

There was actually a part of her that wasn't opposed to sleeping with him and that was a bit of a revelation.

"Wouldn't this year be a lot more fun if we were fucking each other's brains out?" he asked. That contrary part of her brain didn't mind hearing that either.

Every single part of her body was on fire, probably more so because she didn't want it to be, but her body was utterly betraying her. His hand was underneath her shorts, his thumb slowly traveling down the grove between her leg and her torso.

"Okay fine," she said and shove him away hard. "You're a bigger slag than I am."

"Always have been," he said with a smile, flush with his victory.

Released from the tension, she pressed her lips together and tried to think of how Harry would react if she actually ended up sleeping with Draco.

With his hands behind him, he leaned against the stony sides of the stairs leading to the bedroom.

Did he really believe they would have a better time this year if they were sleeping together? Was there some part of him that actually wanted that? Because he'd always treated her like she had leprosy. Could he actually go through with it?

Even the question was short-circuiting her brain. Her and Draco. She couldn't even imagine that. No, that was wrong, she had some very real sensations to go along with the notion now, thanks to him. And the kiss. That had been a bad idea.

"Neither of us are getting any anywhere else?"

"Are you actually trying to talk us into sleeping together?"

"When we get out of here, every single person our age will be married."

"Not a problem for me, because I am literally out of here. In the general sense."

He frowned. "What? You're going back to the muggle world?"

"Yes, for university. I kind of have to if I am ever going to have a place in the muggle world."

"So you are turning your back on the wizarding world to go back to the muggle world?"

"Yeah, for a while."

"For how long?"

"Why do you care?"

"You are literally my wife."

"And I am literally doing what you've been begging me to do for years and going back to the muggle world. What exactly did you expect?"

Now it was his turn to look stumped. He didn't have an answer. "Was that your intention all along?" he finally asked.

Biting her cheek, she stared at him for a moment. "No, actually. This war kind of showed me that it might be a good idea to have options." She was quiet for a moment, feeling the aching, bitter disappointment that existed in her. "So many people just complied with Voldemort's stupid edicts. They didn't even object. How many people actually, in their hearts, objected to how they treated muggleborns?" She snorted. "I guess we proved, Malfoy, that all this time, you weren't lying."

Jumping down from the breakfast bar, she walked away, unable to have this conversation anymore. And she couldn't deal with him anymore, because all the bullshit he'd been spewing for years had been true. When push came to shove, this society didn't value her enough to protect her if someone sought to persecute her. And yes, she knew that standing up against Voldemort was dangerous, but there were quite a lot of people who weren't all that upset about how the muggleborns had been treated. In her heart, she hadn't really believed it, but there was proof seen by her own eyes now.

And as a result, she had lost her faith in this world. So giving up a possible future by not having a university education wasn't something she was willing to contemplate anymore. She needed a means to turn her back on this world if she had to. Potter, the eternal optimist, didn't see it that way. To him, Voldemort had been vanquished, and all was well, but this war had lost her her faith in this society.

But she wasn't dressed to leave, so she walked up into the bedroom and closed the door. It certainly was a day for revelations. All the old things that she had firmly believed in had fallen away. Like the future she had absolutely foreseen in the wizarding world, the firm belief that she belonged here—and the idea that she wouldn't touch Malfoy with a barge pole. What else of the things she believed weren't true?

For a moment, she missed Harry. He was the one thing that never betrayed her. Maybe switching those little pieces of paper had been the biggest mistake of her life. But equally, Harry would not have let hers slip away back to the muggle world. His faith was still firm and he would talk her around, and she would probably give in. In was nice and sunny in Harry's view of the future. Maybe he was right. She hoped so, but she needed to have a plan B.

Maybe it wasn't a plan B. As much as people here disparaged the muggle world, she might end up loving it and simply choosing to stay.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The atmosphere in the apartment got even more tense and awkward if that was even possible. Lying on the bed, Draco stared up at the ceiling. Well, he certainly wasn't bored. Fine, he was bored because he was staring at the ceiling, but the alternative was to go downstairs and start a fight with Granger. He could just look at her at the moment and she bristled. Or he could go to class, but he wasn't sure he could be bothered.

People were still staring daggers at him, probably because Potter had blabbed about him abusing her. People always believed the sensationalized version without even bothering to ascertain if it was remotely true. Then again, it wasn't a surprise that people were assholes. Nothing much had changed there.

Groaning, he shifted over to his side. Maybe he should just go downstairs and pick a fight with Granger. Except their fighting had now taken on a new edge, a sexual edge, which really was playing with fire. Because she hadn't exactly shrunk away with disgust when he'd run his hand up her thigh. But how much of that was pure competitiveness? He wasn't sure, and he wasn't completely sure he wanted to find out.

There was clearly danger there. Exactly what kind of danger he wasn't sure. So what if he ended up fucking Granger? Obviously it would be the most scandalous gossip around. His dad would be furious. Then again, neither of them would be bragging about it.

"What is wrong with these people?" he heard Granger complain downstairs. Distress was clear in her voice. Something had obviously happened. Should he go see or should he just ignore her? He wanted to ignore her, but he was too curious—and bored. And anything that upset Granger was worth knowing about.

Biting his cheek, he considered not going down there, but curiosity got the better of him. He found her reading through a parchment, a deep frown on her face. "Can't they just leave us alone?"

"Us? Am I part of this conversation?"

"It's another challenge."

Draco groaned. Not another of these hare-brained challenges where they had to compliment each other. "What's this one?"

"The Tunnel of Love."

"Excuse me?" Draco said.

"That's all it says."

"The Tunnel of Love?"

"There used to be this muggle amusement park thing when people would float down this water feature and it was called the Tunnel of Love. It was for snogging in some level of privacy."

"They're hopeful, aren't they?"

"'Take a trip down memory lane and discover your heart's desire,' it says," Hermione said, reading the parchment, then dropping it as if it was on fire.

Draco didn't know if he should be impressed with this unprecedented level of tackiness.

"This afternoon," she continued. "Not giving us a lot of time to prepare."

"How do you prepare for memory lane?"

"I don't know. I just don't like them springing these challenges on us. I actually had some work to do today."

"Since when do you work? All you do is mope around feeling sorry for yourself."

"Shut up, Malfoy. Could you just not talk?"

"Is it this challenge that has your knickers in a twist or is it just that time of the month?"

The punch in his arm was as hard as she could manage and it was pretty hard. "Owww," he complained. "So violent. Some say that's sexual frustration."

"Fuck off, Malfoy.""

"Of what? You're going to hit me again? The way you're going, you're probably going to rape me."

"Do you have any idea how inappropriate you are?"

"Yes, I'm not stupid. But I adore how much it bothers you."

"Argh," she complained and stomped off into the bedroom. With a sigh, Draco threw himself down on the sofa. At least this challenge would be a break from the monotony of all this. If he could just sleep the day away. Sleep the rest of the year and wake up for graduation.

Maybe he should go down to the quidditch field and fly, but it was getting busier down there with the tournament. While they were at this school as seventh years, they weren't allowed on the quidditch team because it would disadvantage the other students who would have their places on the team displaced by older students who kept hanging around after they should be gone. So no quidditch and they hadn't made an exception for Potter.

In the end, Draco decided to go for a walk. It was icy out. The wind tore across the lake and ripped at his hair and clothes like an angry beast. His eyes watered as he faced the lake. He didn't mind. It would snow soon. It couldn't be far away. And then Christmas. Not that he looked forward to it, but it was a chance to get out of here.

Would Granger be angry at him if he missed the challenge? And what the hell was Granger going to do over Christmas if her parents weren't around? Hang out with the Weasleys probably. They seemed to take in any stray going.

This face was cold when he got back. All of him was cold when he got back. There was a buzz around the halls. All knew of this latest challenge, clearly excited about some place to snog in private, as if they didn't have that already.

Granger wasn't in the apartment when he returned and for a moment he was annoyed. Where was she? They were supposed to do this thing together, but she had fucked off somewhere. Well, he wasn't going to go chasing after her. But then there was that threat of couples counselling hanging over them if they didn't participate. Draco swore.

In the end, he left the apartment and followed the crowd because he hadn't actually read the notice that had arrived. The crowd led him to the Great Hall, where he saw Granger standing with the Gryffin-wankers.

"Now, we have an exciting challenge in store that explores each participant's past."

"All our sexual conquests?" someone called.

McGonagall gave the scathing look she was known for and refused to speak again until there was complete silence. "Our histories are important and often insight is found from reviewing what we know."

She was speaking cryptically and Draco was losing interest, even as she went on to explain how things were organized. Draco would simply wait for Granger to come get him, which she eventually did, with her arms crossed and that typical sour look on her face.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

Draco rose and followed her as she started walking. They had to stand in line along the corridor where couples were lined up, chatting excitedly as the people ahead walking in through a door when it opened to let them in. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious as they got close. Obviously he wasn't worried. There was nothing in his past he was ashamed of. Although he was curious to see what she would reveal about her past. They wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't at least interesting. Surely they didn't think they needed a place to snog.

People didn't come out so they had no idea what to expect. And then it was their turn. They walked in the door and felt magic as they crossed the doorway, arriving in this space where a pink swan bobbed in a water course-way.

"I guess we get in," Hermione said. "After placing our thumbs here. That's odd." She placed her thumb down on the wooden stand. "Ouch. It pricked me."

"Accessing your memories," Draco said. It was his turn. "I'm not sure this is hygienic."

"Scared of a bit of blood?"

"Mudblood blood. I don't know where you've been."

"You're revolting," she said tartly.

There was nothing for it but to put his thumb there and the prick snapped.

"Let's just get this over with," she said and stepped into the swan. It gave with her weight and skittered to the other side, not that it really had anywhere to go. It shifted again as he got in. They were definitely floating, but it wasn't large so they had to squeeze in. The swan sensed they were ready and started floating into the dark, heart shaped tunnel.

"This is dreadful," Draco said. It was black, nothing observable but the splash of water. The swan bumped along the edges of the path. Well, this was boring. "This would be better as a horror ride."

"It probably will be," she replied.

An image lit up in front of them. It was massive. An image of Granger in her pink Yule Ball gown. It had been a long time since he'd seen that, but he remembered it. The image didn't move. It just sat there, floating in darkness above them. The swan had stopped moving.

"Alright," Granger said. "Me at the ball."

"With Viktor Frum."

They were silent for a moment. Nothing happened.

"I don't think the point of this is to identify where and who it is," she said. "This is the Tunnel of Love, so obviously it has something to do with… love. I loved the gown," she said hopefully.

"Maybe it's to do with him being your first boyfriend." Nothing happened. "Did you lose your virginity to him?"

"What? No! It was a dance. It was nice. I had a fight with Ron. He looked ridiculous."

"Well, we're not moving," Draco said. "You're obviously not saying what needs to be said."

"There's nothing that needs to be said about it. It was a nice night. Viktor was my first boyfriend, if you will. We snogged."

They still didn't move.

"Hang on, that's you," she said, pointing at the edge of the picture.

"So?"

"So, you're completely checking me out."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. Maybe this is about you being honest. So go on, be honest," she said tartly.

Draco absolutely did not want to be here right now. "Alright fine, I thought you scrubbed up well that night."

"What? You were jonesying for me?"

"No! I just thought…" Merlin this was torturous, "that you looked pretty. Happy?"

"Huh," she said as the swan started floating again. Oh, this was going to be fun. Confessions with pictures. An ominous feeling descended.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Okay, so Hermione got why they were sitting in a swan in water and total darkness, because she would have gotten out otherwise. This was bullshit. With a deep sigh, she pursed her lips and pressed down the sheer annoyance she felt.

The swan bumped into a wall and her anger only rose. Then a picture flashed up and she had to look up to see it. It was Draco, walking in the hall outside the History of Magic classroom. Wearing black as usual, just walking. Nothing special, but she knew what this was.

"Well, that's random," Draco said. "Guess this one is yours?"

She could actually feel her cheeks burning, but guessed it wouldn't show in the reflected light which lit up both them and the swan. Everything else was still black, even though they could feel there were more structures there. Sometimes she hated how magic artificially hid things she knew was there.

"Care to explain?" Draco said beside her. "It means nothing to me, so this one is definitely yours. Although I can't possibly see what this is about."

Hermione was absolutely mortified, but she kind of understood why they were kept in the dark, because she was seriously considering getting up to leave.

"Fess up," Draco pressed.

"Fine," she said sharply. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. "It was the first time I… saw you," she cleared her throat, "as a sexual being."

"What? I was like fifteen," he said, clearly offended. "You didn't notice I had a dick before then? I've been aware since I was like twelve. I had to have a wank after you punched me in third year."

"Ew," she replied, her mind reeling. There was this whole other level to their interactions that she'd never known about. And he'd touched himself thinking about her. That was… "Why the fuck are we doing this?"

"Because we're married and they want us fucking."

"And they figure this is going to do it?"

"What? Admitting we've been fantasizing about each other?"

"We have not been."

"Clearly that's not true," he said, pointing at the picture. It had been that point when it had struck her that he was a sexual side to him. Obviously, she'd always know on some level a he'd been slutting it around before then, but she had never felt it before. It had just been an average day where she'd seen him in the hall, and bam, realization. Not that it had changed anything, just one of those things that had the next second slipped into obscurity in her mind.

"Pretty sure I never thought of it again," she said.

"Pretty sure you were thinking about it the other day when I ran my fingers up inside your panties."

"Please just shut up."

"I can't believe you didn't even see me as fuckable until I was fifteen."

"I never said I saw you as fuckable."

"The picture being here clearly says you did, otherwise the challenge wouldn't have shown it. Why then?" He was considering the picture. "What was so particularly about then?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. There was nothing particularly about it. I don't think we even engaged. I don't think you saw me. Maybe that's why? You're a hell of a lot more attractive when you're at a distance and unaware. It's when you're close and open your mouth that you kill any kind of sexiness you have."

"Sexiness, huh?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, you want to fuck me."

"Fuck off."

The swam moved again and they were off to discover a new bundle of joy. This was like Pandora's Box. New levels of bullshit came out with each one. She should be happy that it was his turn now, but maybe that was a complete misnomer, because they were both better off knowing none of this.

Nervousness had her hands clammy and her heart was beating. What new level off atrocity was she about to be bombarded with? And what came up was a picture of her being tortured by Bellatix in his house, with him watching. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. She'd never actually seen it from an observant's angle. Draco's face was shut down. There were no emotions on his features.

"Don't tell me you had a wank about that too?"

Draco didn't say anything and she looked over, seeing the same expressionless face. He didn't say anything. The teasing ribbing they'd just had had disappeared and it was as if cold water had been thrown over them. "Well, this is upbeat," she said. "Whatever it is, you might as well spit it out, because we're not moving on until you do." Whatever it was, she was pretty sure she didn't want to hear it. And she suspected if there was anything sexual about this, she would never speak to him again.

The silence stretched and the seconds ticked by.

"It was the first time I considered killing me aunt," he finally said quietly.

The serious tone of his voice showed he wasn't kidding. There was no jest in this. Hermione couldn't imagine being in a position where you had to consider killing a family member.

She was about to say sorry, but stopped herself. How could she say sorry when she was right there being tortured?

The swan moved on in silence. "Well that was cheery," Hermione finally said. Why had they shown that image? There wasn't anything sexual about it. So maybe this thing wasn't totally about sex. What did that mean? What pleasantries was about to accost her next?

The swan stopped and she felt her heart beating again. Why was this making her so nervous? This was clearly about confessions.

A new image flashed up above them. Her kissing Draco on the sofa the other day. Face to face, her holding her weight up, just above him. The angle kind of made it look like she was cradled between his legs, which absolutely had not happened. It looked a hell of a lot more intimate than it had been.

It was dramatic. It looked capturing a like a storm in motion. One of those good photos that seems to capture emotion, hopes and dreams. Except it hadn't been. She'd been punishing him, not that the photo came across that way. It looked like a gut-wrenching kiss, which it completely had not been.

"Damn that's hot," Draco said. "If we'd actually fucked, do you think they'd be showing that right now? A witness to our dirty secret. We must look pretty good fucking."

It was painful being confronted with proof of their indiscretion. This could so completely be taken out of context. No one could ever see this.

"It is literally burned into my eyeballs," Draco said. Unfortunately, she had to agree. "This challenge, the Ministry, is definitely fighting dirty."

The image faded and she felt relief, because it was as if she couldn't look away. Her and Draco—in flagrante. Humiliation or something similar was flaring through her. What the hell had she been thinking?

"How am I going to have a wank now and not think about that?" Draco said. Why would he say that? Because it bothered the shit out of her, that's why. Nothing had changed there.

"I'm sure you'll manage," she said tartly.

A distant light appeared and they were floating toward it. The challenge was over. They'd both been embarrassed and mortified. Interspersed with Draco thinking about murdering his aunt—for her. That was a different level of uncomfortable. Seeing her being tortured had been upsetting enough that he'd considered killing family. That wasn't a lie. The challenge would not have shown it if it had been. It had also meant something to him, because it was one of the two things this confession booth had chosen to reveal.

Why was this ride taking so long?

"We survived another challenge," she said. "How many more of these will we have to endure? What else could they make us do?"

"Don't ask," was all Draco said. Clearly he had some ideas and she didn't even want to think of what went on in his head.

The light was starkly bright as they finally floated out of the tunnel and the swan stopped. Hermione had never been so glad to get out, because she knew there were probably some more confessions that could be draw out of her.

"Why do you think it showed us that picture with Bellatrix?" she asked. "It wasn't in line with the others."

"Because I chose you over her. This challenge was all about us choosing to see each other differently. Of choosing each other."

"But we didn't."

"Didn't we?"

"Did either of us see each other differently after the last one?" Was it a mistake asking that question?

"You mean when we changed our relationship to actually being physical?" he replied.

"That's not what it signified," she stated.

"Really? How can you say? We've kissed. I've had my hand down your panties. That was your image. Don't forget that?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's your brain. You tell me. That kiss changed the way you saw me. You chose to make our relationship physical. Challenge doesn't lie."

"No, I didn't. It didn't mean anything," she said weakly, not really having anything to back it up with. The kiss had been so recent, there was no real history after it to point to as proof to say their relationship hadn't changed. Or was it true, had the kiss changed how she'd seen him? It hadn't occurred to her that it had, but these things were subconscious. She'd hadn't really realized how her perception of him had changed that time seeing him in the hall either. "Nothing has changed," she said with determination.

"Okay, but you're going to see that image of you practically raping me tonight when you close your eyes," he said lightly.

Well she was now. "Argh," she vented.

"And the coil winds tighter," he said and started walking away.

What coil, she wanted to challenge, but she didn't want to know the answer.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

On an exhale, Draco woke. For a moment, he didn't know where he was and the dream he'd just woken from still had a grip on him. It took a moment for him to clear his head.

Through closed eyes, he listened to the noise of someone pottering. Granger.

His body was on fire and he lifted the blankets off him, but not too much. After effects.

Cool air met his bare torso and he hoped it would calm things down.

The clink of a spoon. She was making tea. He grumbled, feeling it reverberate through his throat.

"Are you going to get up anytime soon?" she asked.

"Nope." Certainly not with what was going on under his blanket.

"Potions is on in ten minutes."

"You'd better get going then." Finally he opened his eyes. Granger was dressed in her uniform. The image of their kiss fleeted into his mind, but he pushed it away. But no, response down below. Wonderful. Because what he really, really, really wanted right now was for her to suck him off in the shower. Soft lips, total rush. She'd deck him if he said so.

Walking over, she stood with her hand on her hip, holding her mug to tea. "So what? You're going to lie on the sofa all day?"

Should he admit he was just about to go have a wank in the shower as soon as she was gone? At times his life felt like a series of thoughts and impulses he wondered if he should admit or not. Like, "Hey, I'd like to fuck you." Wouldn't go down well. But then, what lurked in Granger's head that she wouldn't admit to? It couldn't be prudish disapproval all the time.

At least she had through of him as a sexual being, at least once. The challenge had dragged that confession out of her, kicking and screaming.

"You'd better get out of here," he said and she raised one eyebrow, looking utterly unimpressed. "Or you will see the state of me after a particularly riveting dream."

With a disgusted snort, she relented and walked away, grabbing her bag and heading out the door. Good, because this wasn't going to go away without being tended to.

You'd figure the state he was in, he couldn't be ready to be in class a mere five minutes after it started, but showering had literally not taken more than a minute. Not after his mind had replayed the scene it had concocted earlier.

"So wonderful you are still here to join us," Professor Slughorn said wryly, like he did every time Malfoy had any reason to call attention to himself, as if the man was still living in hope Draco would have the decency to remove himself from the school at the earliest opportunity. The man's opinion of him was never going to change.

Draco distinctly avoided looking in Granger's eyes. The last thing he wanted right now was her pity. She knew how people treated him. For a while, he'd forgotten, had been so wrapped up in the relationship between them that all others had been pushed out. In a way, they had been in a little bubble where their contentious pecking held an increasingly strong undercurrent—one she wouldn't admit.

Class was boring, but at least it was active and they quietly worked on brewing the potion of the day. Draco had some advantage over her here, because he'd done this stuff last year—she hadn't. But one never knew what she'd come across in her relentless quest for knowledge. Still, that relentlessness hadn't returned. She was still spurning the library. In a way, she had given up the person she had been, but hadn't quite decided who she was going to be. Was even considering giving up being a witch—although not enough to walk away. Deep down, she wasn't ready to walk away.

When potions was finally over, she grabbed her things and left, as did Draco so to avoid giving Slughorn further chance to depart his opinion. The man couldn't seem to help himself.

The halls were busy and along the way, he passed some fifth year with his tongue deep down the throat of a girl, completely lost to the rest of the world. Then he passed that Hufflepuff, Leanne, who gossips said was already pregnant. She didn't look at him as he walked past, instead had a long look in her eyes as if she was somewhere else, her hand resting on her belly. That rumour was probably true.

Around him, bodies moved and shifted, touched and flirted. Everywhere around him, thick and heavy energy. It was inescapable. Even in the library, where he sat down and just stared into space for a while. His focus was shot. With Granger not here, he finally noticed that he'd been aware of her the whole time they'd been in potions. He was aware of her all the time. And funnily, the library was the only place she wouldn't come.

He had another class, muggle studies, which was the only class that was mandatory for only certain people. Granger wasn't in it. In fact, seventh year muggle studies was a rather small class, made up mostly by unwilling Slytherins. It was its own form of torture. As unpleasant as most things were, the Slytherins were probably who he had to be most wary of—and Potter. Either situation could go off at any time.

After two hours of torture listening to the cultural implications of muggle veneration of musicians and celebrities, he'd had enough of people and of being wary. The apartment was a retreat, particularly as Granger wasn't there. He actually knew her schedule, and she wasn't in class, which meant she was probably hanging with her self-absorbed friends.

He tried to sleep for a while lying down on the sofa, but the heavy energy didn't leave him alone there either. Mostly he just ended up staring at the ceiling. Close his eyes and the energy surged. He just wanted to be touched. Although he refused to entertain it, that image of him and Granger kissing still lingered in the back of his mind.

A shushing sound as she walked in. "That stupid eagle has been pestering me," she said as she walked in. "I'm not your relay. Go sort your mail out. It obviously wants to give you something."

Draco found he didn't care. His father, mother, or whoever wanted to get in touch with him, he didn't care. There was nothing interesting or useful they could add.

"Stupid thing would probably just claw me anyway," she grumbled and dropped her bag. "You didn't come to dinner."

"Not hungry," he said.

"Seriously, I'm starting to wonder if you are growing roots to that sofa. You really seem to like it. Sure you don't want to sleep there permanently?" she asked. "I won't be offended."

No, he wanted the bed. Large bed, nice, crisp white sheets. So much… potential. Draco closed his eyes.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked. Stepping over, she shoved his foot with her knee. "You ill?"

"Don't touch me," he said.

Crossing her arms, she did that terse stare. "And why not?"

"I might like it." Way more than she bargained for. Because he still remembered the thrill of running his finger down inside her panties. That was the wrong thing to bring up right now, just as he was lying there, watching her.

Thick, choking terseness immediately flared and she stepped back. Maybe she had seen in his eyes where his mind had been.

Sitting up sharply, he drew his hands through his hair and let his head hang for a while. He was inescapably attracted to Granger right now. But somehow, he'd managed to shut her up, because she stood awkwardly and said nothing. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing." Silence again. "I am making a cup of tea. If you ask nicely, I would consider making you one."

For a moment, he couldn't formulate a response to this. Was she actually being nice? "Please." He said it partially just to break this awkwardness, but he ended up lying back again and watch her as she pottered around the kitchen, boiling water, getting the tea bags out of the cupboard, resolutely ignoring him. She knew better than to bait this bear.

He'd just won the war, he recognised. His desire had her in full retreat, because she feared it. Now wasn't that funny? Or had he lost? It did feel like loss. This felt powerful. He felt powerful. And also free, in a sense. Not sure how. Maybe that is an instinct he would study later.

Again, not really engaging with him, she brought the cup of tea over and handed it to him, her finger in the ear, exactly where his finger needed to go. "Here you go," she said overly brightly. His finger slid over hers in the ear of the cup and he trapped her there. She burned red. Oh, she was fully aware of the energy between them. There was no doubt.

Putting the cup to side, he rose suddenly. "My turn." With his hand at her cheek, his fingers at her neck, he drew her into a kiss. Contact felt like release. The energy flowed, through him into her. Soft lips molding to his, the warm, the taste, the luscious softness. Her half-sigh. All these things tingled along his nerves. Her body soft, now pressed to his. He dove deeper into her mouth, wanting more, his tongue stroking hers.

She tasted like heaven. Honey and sunshine. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire. His lungs burned for air, but he didn't care. This was more important than air.

As the kiss broke, he didn't let go of her. She was flush against him, her breasts pressed to him. Her eyes were both shocked and lost, and they were both simply still. She didn't know what to do—he could see the indecision in her eyes, because some part of her wanted this.

Leaning his head forward again, his lips stroked hers. She came to him this time and they submerged in the sticky, languid rush of a kiss yet again. The energy flowed freely and his arms pulled her even closer, then twisted them down onto the sofa. Her breath was heavy and deep as he broke the kiss, and just lingered on the feeling of lying with her, cradled by her body. His hand was on her thigh, feeling the warm solidness of her.

She was caught in this too, but the need was too strong, too driving for him to actually think about it. He needed to be inside her. If she said no now, it might actually do him harm. Tension was so severe, it hurt. Truthfully, he wasn't thinking, this was all instinct. Somehow in the fumbling urgency, he managed to free himself, and to clear whatever impediment was in the way. Might have torn it. Didn't know, didn't care.

A sharp stillness descended as he pushed into her. Her eyes were wide and searching his. Her mouth a soft circle as she gasped. Every muscle in his body shook with tension, but the sensation of drew him down, away from conscious thought into a state of simply feeling. Her around him. Her ground to her. Truthfully he had no control over this. It had simply claimed him and he was just being let by something that knew exactly what it wanted.

She groaned again and the sound reverberated through his entire existence. He ground into her again and again, driven by the pleasure and of hearing her. Her hips met him, they moved in unison.

It overtook him, the rush, the building tension, which culminated and then released. It was utterly exquisite, wave after wave, draining every ounce of the energy.

The intensity dissipated slowly and he lay heavily on her, completely unable to make any part of his languid body move. Truthfully, he couldn't make his brain move either. It refused to think.

"Fuck," she said and he smiled into her shoulder, where his ragged breath bounced off her skin. "Fuck," she repeated. She didn't push him away. They simply lay there, still entangled. If she didn't push him away, he was going to grow hard again, but he was going to leave it up to her to choose.

A/N Yep. So that happened. Just letting you know, that my book, Marbella Nights, under author name Shel Stone is free on Amazon this weekend. Download a copy if you wish.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Hermione sat on the toilet lid with closed eyes, not believing she'd done what she'd done. What the hell had she been thinking? It had just happened. She'd had a few drinks, her guard had been down, they'd been kissing and then it had just gone too far—all the way too far. What the hell was wrong with her?

Revulsion rolled her stomach. Mostly at herself and for being stupid enough to simply let that happen. What if she got pregnant? She'd be tied to this forever. She'd be tied to Draco forever. No, that could not happen. This could not happen.

Absently, she banged her forehead with the palm of her hand. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now she was hiding in the bathroom, practically cowering.

And the worst was: it had been good. Obviously, Draco, at various points in his life, had had a great deal of practice. Not so much lately, because no one would go near him. Except apparently her.

This would change everything. This would forever be between them. One stupid moment of inattention and this had happened.

Being even more distraught at how cowardly she was by hiding in the bathroom, she got up and took a deep breath. It was time to face down this dragon.

He was sleeping on the sofa, where she had left him last night, after they'd… A new wave of nausea assaulted her. As intimate as intimate could be. Just wonderful.

Unfortunately he was awake, lying there with his bare chest and his arm behind his head. "Hello, Sunshine," he said, clearly gloating. "How are we feeling this morning?"

"Fuck off, Draco."

"Is that the piercing pain of regret I hear?"

Hermione rolled her eyes shut. Yes, she would forever be subject to his gloating. He would have this over her until the end of time.

"Just a cheap lay," she said.

"Ooh, ouch. So it doesn't bother you at all that you just slept with the person you've been furtively rolling your eyes at for seven years?"

"I don't know. Does it bother you that you just slept with someone so very beneath you?"

"More a case of sheer desperation, some would say."

"Well, that's great." She was over this now. "Obviously, you can't tell anyone. And I mean no-one."

A smirk was creeping along his lips. Seriously, what had she been thinking?

"Worried your friends will find out. Would they look at you with such disappointment in their eyes? You, the Gryffindor war hero, sleeping with Draco Malfoy."

"Yeah, they wouldn't believe you."

"Are you sure? Don't you think they'll believe there's been sexual tension between us for years?"

"No, why would they?"

"Uhm, because there has been."

"No, there hasn't," she said with a snort, knowing she was sounding a little too eager for that to be true. Not at all during the war, because mostly she'd just been in a blind panic, but since, it would be a lie to say there hadn't been. "Like I said, just a cheap lay."

"Oh, marginalizing what has been such a glorious experience. Who are you trying to convince, you or me?"

"Just shut up. No one must know. You do recall how your father threatened to disown you, don't you? Technically you are the one who has shit to lose here. I don't, not really. And even if you do blab, who are you going to blab to? You numerous friends, or mine who wouldn't believe a word you say?"

"You're so mean, and I love it." He was teasing her. His eyes were dark and hooded as he watched her. She wished he wouldn't do that. And why would he say that? What was the point of this?

She grew serious. "So we don't tell anyone, and we never do this again."

"Why not?"

"Because there are consequences, ones I don't think either of us want to deal with. You think these rooms aren't completely charmed to remove any kind of contraceptive charms? I can't see the Ministry setting this up and then allowing us all contraceptive charms. Remember what the point of all this is."

"Oh yeah, me knocking you up."

"Don't joke about it. Neither of us want to have to deal with the other for the rest of our lives, do we?"

For once, he didn't say anything. "Imagine the rage Potter would fly into if I knocked up his little ward."

"I am not his ward, and can we not bring Harry into this. What you really should worry about is the rage your father would fly into. We can seriously not afford to go down this route— _even_ if we weren't diametrically opposed in every possible way."

Whatever was going on in Draco's mind at the moment, she had no idea, but he wasn't contradicting her. So they were in agreement. They would not speak about it, because neither of them would really gain anything by doing so, and they would not do it again. They couldn't afford to.

Somehow, after that string of mortifying moments, Hermione felt better and she turned her back on him to make a cup of tea. Inwardly, she was still cringing at what she'd done.

It was the weekend and there were no classes on. In a way, Hermione wished there was, because she could use the distraction. Instead, she took her tea and left the apartment, wrapping her cardigan tightly around her as she stepped outside. Their apartment was a warm cocoon compared to the chilly late autumn weather outside. The bastards at the Ministry probably did that too, so they would be oh so comfortable in their little hollows.

The tea was scalding as she took a sip and determined she'd have to wait. Well, that gave her a while to sit down and muse on how royally she'd fucked up her life.

"Hey, Moine," Ron said, catching her by surprise. Oh, wonderful, the person who would judge her even more harshly than she judged herself. He looked horrible. Dark circles under his eyes.

"Hi, Ron. How are things with Susan?"

"Ugh, she nags all the time," he said, sitting down next to her, so casually it seemed his very flesh was melting off his bones.

"Well, she's not really much of a party animal. Maybe you need to wind down the partying a notch or two."

"I'm just unwinding. It's nothing to be uptight about."

Well, Ron had been unwinding for months now, and it didn't mean lying in the bath with a good book. Alcohol, and Hermione suspected all sorts of illicit substances. He certainly didn't look healthy. Maybe the Weasleys would step in when he went home for Christmas, because no one else seemed to be able to reach him.

"Enough about Susan. How's it going with the Lord of Impotent Darkness?"

That was a new one. And yeah, not so impotent when it came down to it. Ugh. "We mostly avoid each other," she said, taking a deep sip of the too warm tea. Maybe that was punishment for outright lying. Technically, it wasn't a lie as she was avoiding him right that very moment.

"I feel like we never hang anymore," Ron said.

"That's because you're never sober, Ron," Hermione said blatantly.

"Don't get on my case too," he whined. "Last year was really stressful, and people don't seem to understand that."

"It was really stressful for me too."

"Right now, I need to not be stressed."

Hermione remained silent. She wanted to say that he was destressing way too much, but he wasn't going to listen and would only take it as a personal attack. Truthfully, she had no idea how to deal with this and she suspected Harry didn't either. Maybe they were all too shattered to actually cope with any real problems. It felt horrible to say it, but she just wasn't strong enough to deal with Ron's deep-seated issues right now. Inhaling deeply, she sighed out. "We're all just screwed up right now."

Ron seemed to understand. "Yeah, but at least me and Harry aren't saddled with a pig like Draco Malfoy."

For the first time in a while, Hermione smiled. "Yeah."

"The world punishes you for doing the right thing, doesn't it?" he said. "You've certainly been punished for helping Ginny. Stuck with that arsehole. But it's half over, almost, isn't it? And you'll get a break over Christmas. Seriously, if he so much as touches you, we'll deal to him, me and Harry."

But in truth, Hermione wasn't sure Ron would be sober enough to do so if that time ever came. Not that it would. They didn't have that kind of relationship. Then again, they hadn't had the kind of relationship where they impulsively sleep together either as far as Hermione had understood, but that hadn't turned out to be true either. "I can take care if myself," she said dismissively.

The threat facing her was coming from a very different direction from the one they feared. Or perhaps that wasn't true. More than likely they would fear the true threat a hell of a lot more. They would never understand and they would be absolutely mortified if she ever told them what had happened.

"Well wipe the floor with him," Ron went on. "Beat him to a messy pulp and they would have to do some serious magic to put his face back together again."

"Okay, calm down, crusader," Hermione said. "No one will be messing with anyone's face. I'd doing perfectly fine at dealing with Malfoy." Lie!


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

The air was cold when Draco woke, but he was not. It was his night in the bed and he stretched out, lengthening every muscle in his body. Hermione was on the sofa. Truthfully, he wouldn't half have minded if they shared the bed, but the topic had never come up—because she avoided him like the plague.

Well, if he'd been looking for a way of subduing Granger, he'd found the ultimate. She was just as prickly, maybe even more, but she had that haunted look about her as if she'd run at any moment. And then she had run, and stayed away all day. The peace he'd wanted was finally his, but his unease attested that right now that he didn't want peace. It would pass.

The last thing he needed were the memories that were threatening to invade and he was just keeping them at bay. How she smelled, felt, mewled. These things about her were all his now. These memories about her were his, and she couldn't take them back.

With a sigh, he cleared his mind because it was going down a dangerous path. Movement caught his eye and he turned his head to see white snowflakes drift past the window. It was snowing. Draco loved the snow, the peacefulness of it, the silence, the constant movement. He wasn't sure why he found it so reassuring, but he did. It was as if the world stopped for a while. Getting up, he walked to the window and looked out. It had snowed quite a bit during the night. A blanket of white covered the ground. Chill from the window emanated to his skin as he leaned on the window sill.

Potions was starting soon and he had to get dressed. For a moment, he considered going back to bed, but it would mean Hermione had no time to dress and that would make her grumpy. Now, he considered whether he cared. If she was grumpy, they might fight, and fighting was better than not fighting.

Then he took a moment and checked himself, because it seemed that he wanted to pick a fight with Granger. No, that wasn't entirely correct—he wanted to fuck Granger. Fighting was just the means of getting there. Then he took another moment to check himself. Yep, he was not on board with her suggestion to forget it had ever happened and to never do anything like that again.

Obviously, he should absolutely not want to sleep with Granger, but maybe the Ministry's machinations were wearing him down, because fucking Granger was literally the only thing he wanted right now. And maybe some self-respect, but he might have to acknowledge that that had gone out the window. Cunning bastards.

Getting in the shower, he refused to touch himself and it was too damned chilly for a cold blast. The potions classroom wasn't exactly toasty. Hypothermia might be an effective dampner though.

The black robes felt comforting and he finally walked out of the room.

"Ten minutes!" she said, standing with her fluffy cardigan around her, her arms crossed and that sour lemons look on her face. "Class starts in ten minutes. Thanks a lot."

"I woke up late. Didn't even have time for a wank."

"Ugh, you're disgusting."

"Disgusting, huh?" _I remember what it feels like having you come around my cock._ A statement you can't say out loud. Along with so many other of the things that went through his head. "Okay, fair point."

His acknowledgment threw her off and she shook her head as she pushed past him. Draco picked up his bag and went down to the Grand Hall to grab something quickly before heading to class, which turned out to be a sausage in a slice of bread.

The Slytherin table gave him their typical dirty looks, but it didn't bother him so much. Maybe because it was early, or maybe because his attention was fully caught up elsewhere. Right now, he simply didn't care that everyone hated him.

Slughorn was dressed for artic weather, which was slightly disturbing. He stood bouncing on his toes, waiting for all his students to arrive.

"Alright then, shall we start. Today… Nice of you to join us, Miss Granger. Were you misinformed of the time?"

"No, I'm sorry," she said, just coming in the door, her hair dripping wet, trying to catch her breath from running. Sitting in the back, the nearest table for her was beside him, or she would further disturb the class. "Thanks a lot, arsehole," she said as she sat down.

"He literally started class three seconds before you arrived. You know you don't actually have to wait for me to come out of the bedroom." She gave him a filthy look and Draco rolled his eyes. "Just a suggestion that would suit everyone tolerably."

"As you may have noticed, it's snowing," Slughorn said proudly as if he was personally responsible. "And it is the one day of the year the Belmyra Snowdrop blooms. If you have read your texts, you will know of its magical properties. Who can tell me?"

A few people held up their hands, but not Granger. Still holding to her no information offered policy, it seemed. Was her hand itching to rise and she was holding herself back, or did it go more deeply than that?

Some underling seventh year Draco didn't really know rattled off the answer.

"So we shall go collect some and then we will experiment with the sleep potion that can be distilled from this rare and precious flower," Slughorn continued. "Come on, quickly now before they fade again. One needs to be on one's toes to catch one of these flowers."

"He could have informed us to dress warmer," Granger complained.

"It shouldn't take long," Slughorn continued. "Simply collect one and return here. The forest should be covered in them today. At least for the next hour or so. Go with your table partners. It is the forest, so no one should go alone." Slughorn gave them a pointed look.

The scraping of chairs signified that everyone was hopping to it. Truthfully, Draco didn't mind. He'd rather be out there in the snow than sitting in class. It felt a little hard to concentrate today. The wooden stool was actually really uncomfortable too.

Their robes were quite warm and if they couldn't figure out how to do a warming spell by now, they deserved a bit of frostbite.

Heading out of the castle, snow crunched satisfyingly under his feet. Granger walked silently beside him, her arms still crossed. He felt strange, a little like he was floating. It felt a little magical in the common use sense of the term. One foot in front of the other, he moved.

"Do you know what this flower looks like?" she asked.

"Do I look like a person who knows flowers?"

Granger rolled her eyes. "I know it's white. I know what a regular snowdrop looks like, but who knows about these magical ones that only flower on the first day of snow."

It grew even more silent as they walked into the forest. The snow made it less dark, but Draco swore he could actually hear the snow falling now. No bird noises, not creaks. Just silence between their footsteps.

"Merlin it's cold," Hermione said. "I think our best bet is over by one of the lakes."

"Fine, lead the way." He let her walk ahead and he followed, watching her step carefully across the snow. She wore her typical woollen skirt and black leggings underneath. Logic would assume it was the most unattractive get up, which he suspected had been designed so on purpose to keep the male students' minds on their school work.

The forest swallowed up any noise from the other students out hunting flowers, as it tended to do and now it was just the two of them and a million snowflakes. A noise broke through and they both paused. Draco's hand clamped around his wand in his pocket, but nothing appeared. The familiar cloying ooze of adrenalin seeped through his system. "Fuck, I hate this forest," he said.

"I'm sure it hates you right back. If something comes at us, you're no your own."

"Will you desert me? I thought you defended every lost cause you came across."

"Are you saying you're a lost cause?"

Truthfully, he didn't know how to answer that, because he tried not to think about the future at all. It was already spelled out for him. Marry, father sprogs until at least one male heir was achieved and recover the family fortune. It sounded so exciting he could hardly contain himself. "I think that depends on your definition."

Saying that, he didn't believe her. It wasn't in her to desert him to danger. She was the hero type whether she liked it or not. He leaned closer to her. "We both know you wouldn't be able to help yourself. Frankly, I think it gets you all hot and bothered me needing your help. Admit it."

Hermione snorted. For a moment, it looked like she was about to say something, but she stopped herself.

"What?" Draco urged. "Just say it."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Ooh, catty. Do you ever get tired of being such a bitch?" he was walking ahead of her now and he turned back to her, a smile on his lips.

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"

"Hell, yes. Let's fight."

"There is seriously something very wrong with you." She was wary of him, he could see it in the way she stood. Perhaps she had a right to be, because things were going through his head right now.

"Yes," he said and stepped to her, his hand shooting around her neck and drawing her into a kiss. A protest ground out her throat, but he didn't care. The softness, the taste, the utter deliciousness swept his thoughts away and he just existed in the kiss. This was the enemy, the person who hated him the most, and he loved this. All he wanted right now was to be inside her. Just him and her in this snowy forest glade.

"Malfoy," she said when she wrenched herself away. "We can't."

"Yes, we can. There is no reason to. No one will know."

"Except the little issue of no contraception."

Oh, yes, he'd forgotten. Good point. Actually his mind wasn't working well at all. "I'll pull out."

"No you won't."

No, he probably wouldn't, but right that moment he was burning up and he didn't actually care. His body was on fire and all he wanted was to be inside her. Because there would be badness if he couldn't. Something was strange.

"You're hot," Granger said.

"Always knew you thought so."

"No, you're literally hot." She put her hand on his forehead.

"It's just the cold in comparison." Her hand was like a soothing balm on his head and his eyes drifted closed. Maybe she had a point, because he'd been feeling funny all day. "I thought it was just lust."

"Interesting to note you can't tell the difference."

Now that it was mentioned, he felt the weakness in him. Strange how acknowledgement just stole his strength. Or maybe he was simply getting worse. He wasn't falling over or anything, but he now felt that he wasn't right. "Just a fever," he said. And lust. Deep, deep lust. "I'll feel better if we fuck."

Hermione snorted. "Not sure how I should feel in your belief about my recuperative powers. Come on, let's go back."

"No, find this fucking flower. It only happens once a year," he said. Was that the fever talking? "I'm fine. It's not like I'm falling over."

"What about in half an hour?"

"Well, then we can test your insistence at your ability to leave me behind."

Her mouth opened to argue, but he got her solidly. Within a minute, the heat in his body shifted wildly to being cold and his he had to stop his teeth from hacking. Even he knew that a warming charm right now might not be a good idea, so he simply had to deal with the discomfort. Still, he refused to show weakness. It was bad enough that the world around him made him look weak, but to be betrayed by his own body, that was annoying.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Draco looked worse. His skin pale to almost translucent and she could tell that walking was a struggle for him.

"We have to take you to the infirmary," Hermione said.

"No."

"No? You're sick."

"I'm fine."

"Why do boys insist they were fine when they clearly aren't? It's ludicrous. Look at you, you can barely walk."

"I can walk."

Then then he tripped and crashed down to the ground. "See," she said with exasperation as he scrambled up. Hermione had to prop him up. No, he was definitely right in that she didn't have it in her to leave him behind, particularly not in this state. What did that say about her? Maybe that she was a decent person. "You're sick," she stressed.

"And I am not going to the infirmary."

"Argh," Hermione exclaimed in frustration. "What if you actually need medical attention?"

"What I don't need is to be vulnerable and unable to defend myself somewhere where anyone could come in. That's what I really don't need."

"What? You think someone will hurt you in the infirmary?"

"Yeah, I do."

Hermione went to argue, but he did have a point. Sick and vulnerable. If someone harboured a grudge against the Deatheaters for what happened to their families during the war, it would be the perfect time to exact some revenge. "Fine," she said. "But Madame Pomfrey will have to have a look at you if you get any worse."

For once, he didn't argue.

He leaned on her more heavily, but as they entered the castle, he stood up straight and moved away from her, refusing to be seen leaning on her—refusing to be seen as weak. That was what he did, what he had to do. He could not show weakness, or they would pounce.

Back at the apartment, she helped him up the stairs and to the bed. He groaned as he struggled with his jacket and she helped him. "I'll get you some water," she said.

By the time she came back, he lay with his wrist across his eyes, shirtless. Pale skin with a sickly sheen of sweat. He certainly wasn't well. When she reached out and touch his arm, he was hot.

"I'll go get Madam Pomfrey," she said and put the glass down. He didn't answer or move. "There's water there."

Slipping out of the apartment, she ran to the infirmary and informed Madam Pomfrey, going through the whole palaver of why he shouldn't be taken to the infirmary as Madam Pomfrey insisted. "Well, I cannot keep an eye on him if he's not here. You will have to do it."

Still about miffed about the assertions about the security of her wing, she followed Hermione back and examined him as he lay in the bed.

"Well, he has a fever. Quite a nasty one," Pomfrey said. "I have something that will help. With her wand, she retrieved it and a flask appeared on the bedside table. Must take a spoonful every four hours. Efficiently, she brought out a spoon from her pocket and poured a measure. "Open up like a good boy," she said as if speaking to a child.

"Ugh," Draco said with the taste. "That's…" he drifted off.

"Oh, and it makes him a tad sleepy. You will have to inform me if he gets worse. Next few hours should be the worst. If he were to deteriorate, it will be now. But as you refuse to take him to the infirmary," she shrugged, "you will have to watch him."

"Fine," Hermione said.

"Thermometer in the armpit, every half hour for the next four hours, I think. If his fever spikes, you will have to inform me." Pomfrey retrieved a wet cloth from the bathroom and placed it on his head and over his eyes. Draco didn't move. He was out cold from whatever he'd been given. And he might have had a point about not being in the infirmary, because he was completely defenceless. "Oh, and he needs to drink water."

And then Hermione was left alone. Draco didn't move, lay with his head to the side and his arm across his abdomen. His cheeks were flushed pink.

The room was silent. All she heard was Draco's breathing. Laying down next to him on the bed, she picked up a book, but her eyes refused to focus on the words and tended to draw to him and his languid form lying next to her. The dark mark branded angrily on his pale skin. The scars on his chest. Trim waist disappearing into his black pants.

After a while, she got up and wet the compress again. He didn't move.

It wasn't perhaps that he trusted her in his utter vulnerability, but when he had no choice, he seemed to prefer her. She could literally do anything to him right now. But a dagger straight in his heart and he could do nothing about it.

Slowly, it grew dark outside and Draco still hadn't moved. She could barely even hear his breathing. She wasn't sure she had ever felt so alone while lying next to another person.

Sneaking away, she ran to the Great Hall and back, bringing plates of food, coming across no one to question what she was doing.

Draco lay exactly has he had been for the last three and a half hours. Reaching out, she touched him again, trying to determine how he was warmer than before. This time he startled, all the muscles in his chest tightening.

"It's only me. I brought you some food."

He relaxed again.

"You should drink some water," she said taking the glass to his lips. Awkwardly, he drank and then groaned.

"I feel like shit," he croaked.

"Are you hungry?"

He shook his head. Tried to lift it, but gave up. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks red. It was as much color as she had ever seen on him. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

"I have to take your temperature." She grappled with his arm, trying to take it. "Lie still. Half an hour and you can have some more of that medicine."

"Tastes bad."

"I'm sure you've had worse."

He was watching her now, his eyes dark and sparkling in the sparse light. "What?" she asked. "Do you need anything?"

"You," he said, his warm fingers tracing along her knee, slowly moving up her skirt.

"And you are clearly out of your mind."

There was no guess where his mind was at, because his thoughts were forming in his trousers. "A part of me inside you is the only time I feel something." His eyes were on hers. This was a confession. "I loved fucking you. And the things I love doing these days boil down to one."

His fingers snuck higher, touched her panties, a slight touch with a disproportionate sensation. Meanwhile taking her hand and placing it on his chest. He clearly had a direction he wanted this night to finish.

"You're very sick," she said pulling his hand away. It tingled where he'd touched her at the apex of her thighs, building a heaviness. "And you need your rest. Doctor's orders."

Hermione shifted her leg away so he didn't have access to touch her as he had. His hand still rested on her thigh, just not so… intimately. "Right, medicine." Grabbing the tea spoon, she poured a measure, almost spilling it. Draco's hands roamed her, one settling on her breast and there was nothing she could do about it, because she was holding a spoon in one hand and a flask in the other.

"Time for medicine," she said brightly, bringing the teaspoon over. She really should be waiting half and hour, but now was good.

"Not the medicine I want," he replied. Again he took her hand and brought it lower to where he wanted it, on the hard bulge in his trousers.

She held the teaspoon to his lips and looked at him expectantly. His gaze was on her lips. "Do it for me," she said and his eyes came to hers. Grudgingly, he parted his lips and she slipped the spoon in, seeing him swallow. The effect was immediate. He was out. His hands collapsed. Apparently not the stiffness so fast.

Hermione leapt off the bed and paced the room, both shocked and disturbed. Draco's words reverberated through her mind. When completely uninhibited, Draco revealed his true intentions. He wasn't seeing what they had done as a one off. He wanted her, he wanted more, with a singular focus—if his delirious rabbling could be trusted. "Fuck," she said.

This wasn't good. What the fuck was she going to do? Her 'husband' apparently wanted to sleep with her. And the slightest bit of inhibition and she'd melted. This was not good, because he was going to try again, and she knew how determined he could be when he wanted something.

-0-

It was a fairly sleepless night for Hermione. At around four, she'd forced more medicine down him and he'd groaned with displeasure at being woken.

Then again at eight, when he woke with a start. "Water," he croaked and she helped him. "Fuck I'm weak. Is it morning?" He tried to lift his head and his eyes blinked as if the light hurt.

"Yes. I need to take your temperature. Are you hungry?" There was food left over from supper, but he shook his head.

"Your fever has lessened a little bit, so I think you're out of the woods. Now take your medicine like a good boy," she said, repeating what Madam Pomfrey had said.

"Fuck off," he replied and Hermione smiled.

"I see you're feeling better. Now I need to go out for a bit, you'll be okay snoozing here on your own?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he said snarkily.

"Good, then don't be a baby and take your medicine."

The hardness was back in his eyes when he complied. As before, he immediately slept. Really, she might try to keep that bottle after this was over. If he ever annoyed her, a teaspoon of that will go in his tea. It was brilliant.

Pulling on her coat, she left the apartment and went in search of Professor McGonagall, finding her in the hall outside her office. "Miss Granger?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "Are you not supposed to be in class?"

"Professor, I was hoping you could give me a pass to leave for the day. Well, a few hours technically. See my mother is attending a medical appointment and although we believe everything is fine, and chances are that everything is fine, there is a small chance that… you know. Things will not be… fine. So I think it's best that I attend. In case, you know…"

"You could not have organized this earlier?"

"The appointment was pushed up. Things are sometimes a little flexible with the muggle medical profession." Her mouth was dry with all the lying she was doing. But after a moment of assessing her, Professor McGonagall softened. They didn't know that it had been quite a while now since Hermione had seen her parents.

"Well, I hope it is good news. Return at the earliest opportunity and you will have to make up for anything you miss." McGonagall had a capacity to overlook how sparsely some of the classes were attended. Many seemed to have foregone them completely.

"Thank you."

"You can use the floo in my office, or apparate outside of school grounds."

"I'll use the floo if that's alright," Hermione said with a tight smile.

As instructed, Hermione took the stairs to the headmistress' office, quashing a spear of sadness when she saw Dumbledore snoozing on the wall.

"Leaky Cauldron," she said as she threw the floo powder and almost threw up as it pulled her through. It had been a few months now since she'd floo'd anywhere and her stomach had lost its tolerance.

The Leaky Cauldron was empty this early in the morning, Tom putting down the chairs and looking surprised as he saw her come out of the fireplace.

"Just passing through," she said with a smile and headed out the door into muggle London. Noise assaulted her as she walked out, into the stream of people. Truthfully, she didn't know how she felt being back in the muggle world. It had both positive and negative connotations for her. At times she felt like she didn't belong in either world.

Grabbing a piece of paper out of her bag, she transfixgured it as she walked, heading down the street to the nearest pharmacy. It was an old, independent one and a man stood in a white coat behind the desk.

"I have a prescription," she said, handing over the transfigured note. She didn't look him in the eye.

Taking it, he turned it around and looked down. "The morning after pill, and a year's worth of birth control."

Hermione didn't answer and pretended to be fascinated by the sugar-free lollies sitting in a cardboard box by the register.

"My, we have been busy," he said tartly and turned around. Hermione tried not to burn with embarrassment, while at the same time digging through her bag, finding the puking pastille she'd confiscated from a third year at some point, slipping it underneath a pile of papers for the man to find later.

"Here you are," he said tartly. "Fourteen pound fifty."

"Thanks," she said emptily in return and handed over twenty-pound note. Not waiting for the change, she packed away her purchase and left. Outside, she looked down both sides, thinking what to do to kill some time before heading back. Maybe a nice coffee. She missed those.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

This felt worse than a hangover. In fact, it was a hangover from an especially unpleasant evening. All he remembered was feeling like shit and then nothing, waking the next day or the day after. Some snippets of Granger hovering, but she wasn't around now.

His legs were shaky as he got out of bed and made his way into the bathroom. Whatever this was, it had sapped him of all strength. In fact, after doing his business, he was too weak to get back. And he smelled, so he lay down in the bath. Might as well run the water, he thought and fiddled with the taps. It was freezing cold at first and gave his body a shock before warming. When warm enough, he pushed the plug in with his toes and just relaxed as the tub filled and warmth enveloped him.

The ickiness in his body didn't relent, but it felt nicer. As he lay there, he heard Granger returned. Or hoped it was Granger, because he wasn't fit to lift his wand at the moment. And he had no idea where his wand was. That was how out of it he was. A mistake he would never make.

Granger appeared. "There you are."

"Where would you expect me to be?"

"No brain damage then?"

"Don't look so disappointed."

"I brought food."

His stomach twisted both in revolt and hunger. A big chunk of his weakness was lack of food, so he had to eat to feel better. Oh and he was naked. Lovely. Could he be more vulnerable. And yet, he'd felt zero reaction to Granger seeing him naked. What did that say—about both of them?

Granger left again without a word and he forced himself out of the bath. No way was he asking for help. His body still shook as he dressed, but he felt better. The smell of food wafted out as he walked to the door and clasped the railing as he walked down the steps.

Granger was sitting on one of the stools by the kitchen counter, picking at whatever mush was served.

"What time is it?"

"Just after midday."

"Pomfrey probably wants to have a look at you at some point."

Draco was too tired to nod or respond, his attention drawn to the second plate. But he wasn't up for sitting on a stool, so be brought the plate to the sofa and started eating. He was too hungry to care what it was or what it tasted like. Beef and mushrooms in some creamy sauce.

"I'm going to class in a minute. Do you want me to bring you a book or something?" she asked.

"Granger go into the library? What has become of the world?"

She didn't answer. As soon as she finished eating, she placed her plate in the sink and then grabbed her bag and left. When Draco was finished, he lay down on the sofa and dragged the knitted blanket over him. It had garishly bright colors and he knew it was some catastrophe Mrs. Weasley had produced, but he was too tired and weak to get another one. He slept.

Woke again as Granger returned. The noise of the door opening and he startled awake. Noises while he slept still terrified him and he wondered if that reaction would ever end.

Granger placed her bag down on the kitchen counter. Her hair was tied back and her cheek rosy. It was cold outside. Winter was here. Images of winter filled his mind.

"Where are you going for Christmas?" he asked.

"What?"

"Your parents aren't around." Then he remembered that the Weasleys always took her in, or maybe she would spend it with Potter. As for himself, he was due a terse and silent Christmas with his unhappy parents. His mother still hadn't forgiven his father for everything that had happened, as if he was personally responsible. Maybe she didn't see, like Draco had, exactly how little power Lucius had had when it had come down to it. As a child, he'd believed his father to be all powerful, but that illusion was gone. And it was gone publicly too.

Granger shrugged. "I'll be in London, I guess. I have cousins. You want a tea?"

"Yes," he admitted. He hadn't had anything since she'd left.

As he watched, she pottered around the kitchen, boiling water and making tea. Her hair was long and it curled down her back. And they had slept together. It had just happened. One thing leading to another. Maybe it had been inevitable with all the sexual tension.

Finally, she came over with two mugs and handed one to him, then returned to the stool in the kitchen, placing her mug down and pulling something a piece of parchment from her bag.

They really had nothing to talk about, but at the same time, things felt settled between them. A sense of peace perhaps, because there was nothing left to say. They'd said everything. They had even done everything.

Draco sighed and stretched. He did feel better, and was in some way was faced with the prospects of soon returning to his life. Or rather the mess of his life. It was a funny feeling, a funny notion. Either this was his life, here with her, at least for another half a year, or it was back with the awkward silences and blaring resentment with his parents. She wasn't staying and was going back to the muggle world, but they would still be married for four years after that.

He cleared his throat and she looked over for a moment before returning to whatever she was reading.

But it was hard to determine exactly what his life was, which of his realities was his life. For months, he had utterly rejected the ministry's marriage decree. But it was a lie to say there was nothing here, because when push came to shove he trusted her, and that meant a great deal.

So there was a big choice ahead of him about how to deal with this—how to deal with her. A big choice for such a mundane day. But it wasn't that simple. It wasn't a choice he was allowed. He would be disowned, if he so much as breathed acceptance of this marriage. And then there was the whole acceptance of the ministry's blatant manipulations, which rubbed every kind of wrong way.

If he stopped fighting, she would get pregnant and that had real and long-lasting consequences—for the rest of his life. His future and family would not be as he had expected, or what was expected of him. This marriage farce would never end if he got her pregnant. If it turned out she already was, it would almost be a relief, because then the responsibility wouldn't fall on him anymore. It was an accident that had just happened. The future would be set and there would be nothing he could do about it.

Things might have gotten away from him once, but he wasn't one to abdicate responsibility and blame fate for his own misfortunes. What he chose now, he would have to take responsibility for. And it would be shamefully irresponsible to accept this manipulation and its consequences just because he wanted to sleep with her. Granted many made their way in the world based on such impulses, but he would never accept that for himself. Your choices had real consequences, as had his grandfather's decision to throw their lot behind Voldemort. That decision had certainly echoed down generations. And him wanting to sleep with Granger could similarly echo through generations.

How was it no one else blatantly objected to this Marriage degree? "Does it not bother you what the Ministry has done?" he demanded.

Granger looked over with her mug in hand. "What about all this makes you think I'm happy about it?"

Then again, she didn't have anyone to question all this or her decisions within it. Her family was gone. So maybe she didn't really care. Except Potter, who would be seriously unhappy if they had a child together. Along with everybody else. Literally no one, except that vapid Ministry twerp would be happy about it.

Truthfully, something in him wanted to give them all the finger—but he couldn't afford to. He was not made to live in poverty. The Malfoy's depleted means were heartbreaking enough to want to extend that to abject poverty. Granger didn't even have the means to support herself, and together, without the Malfoy money, and with a baby to boot, they would be so poor they would probably have to live with Potter because it was way to put a roof over their heads.

Clearly not an option.

Draco growled and it drew her attention. "You alright?" she asked.

How could she ask that? They could not be together. They just couldn't. "Nothing," he said curtly.

"You want me to bring you back some dinner from the Great Hall?"

"Yes," he said tightly and then covered his eyes with his wrist. No, there was no option. This was not something he could give into. He just couldn't afford it. Now if he could only get back to the place where he wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot barge pole. Unfortunately that had never been true. It was their mutual contempt, her firm dislike for him and the complete lack of trust between them that had kept them far apart. Because honestly, he would have fucked her at any given opportunity since the time he was able to. Lust was not the problem, and getting to a place where it wouldn't be a problem for him was clearly not possible.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Draco was relegated back on the sofa after having had the bed for a while, and Hermione stretched out, enjoying the space. Everything was back to normal now. Draco was surly—all was well in the world. And Christmas was coming up. They would leave in a couple of weeks. And annoyingly, there was another Yule Ball planned. Truthfully, Hermione was getting sick of balls, mostly because they were such tense and fraught affairs. Why couldn't they all slip away without much fanfare?

No, it seemed the school, or was it the Ministry, wanted to celebrate how good they'd all been. Three pregnancies had been announced so far. Hermione couldn't imagine going to class with a cumbersome, protruding belly. It all just seemed so… foreign.

But then there was Christmas, and she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. The Weasleys were still building their new house. Obviously, there was Harry's house at Grimmauld Place, but Harry and Ginny would be either on again, and busy being a couple—which she really didn't want to witness, or off again and fighting—which she also didn't want to be drawn into.

Maybe her task for the Christmas season was to organize her parents' house being let out. At least there would be some money coming her way, because right now, she had nothing. Maybe she should just find some abandoned cottage in the woods somewhere and embrace a more fairy tale version of being a witch.

Getting out of bed, she dressed and left the bedroom. Draco was awake, but still lying on the sofa. "You're going to miss breakfast if you don't get up."

"You know, that thought had never occurred to me," he said tartly. "Thank you for pointing out the absolute obvious."

"Look who woke up on the wrong side of the sofa," she mumbled as she went into the kitchen and made herself a tea. His grumpiness seemed to be correlated with how well he was. Taking her teacup, she left the apartment and went to sit outside in the little quadrant. Snow crunched under her feet and the wind was icy. The tea kept her warm.

Perhaps she herself shouldn't be so grumpy. She only had six months left at Hogwarts and then her school days were over. This would be something she would look back on for the rest of her life, never to experience again. It was a difficult thought to grapple with, even as she knew it would happen.

She'd just been so angry with the school and everyone in it. With the Ministry for this stupid marriage decree, with all the stupid adult who let the war happen and left it to them to clean it up. If given the choice, she wouldn't have come back for this year. That was how angry she had been with them all, and if it hadn't been the threat that she wouldn't be allowed to practice magic, she wouldn't have come back.

But she would have missed the good things about this year, the mundane things maybe, because it wasn't exactly good. There was a chasm between her and Harry that they couldn't seem to address. They weren't angry with each other, but there was distance there and she didn't understand it. And Ron, well, he wasn't the same person. Continually seeking oblivion any way he could get it. Ginny was too preoccupied with her state of mind to even look outside it.

And Draco. Never before had it even occurred to her to consider him. Well, he was grappling with his attraction to her. There was no point denying it, because this whole process, that had decisively been uncovered. And she had never seen it. It hadn't even occurred to her that their battled had always had a strong undercurrent. And she was on the pill because she didn't trust herself.

With a sigh, she took a sip of her tea. She didn't dare think what the next five months were going to be like.

Enough naval gazing, she determined and threw away the last of the tea before heading to the Great Hall. The banter in there was loud. There was laughter. People were happy. The war was being buried and relegated to the past for a lot of them. They weren't looking back anymore. Good for them. It wasn't so easy for some of them, the ones closet to it. In essence, it was a small group. Her, Harry, Ron, Ginny to many extents, and Draco. A group that didn't perhaps acknowledge each other as the merry band of survivors they were.

Hermione ate and saw Draco in Potions. He looked bored and hungry. His face didn't have that translucent pallor it had when he was sick. She had seen him that way. She had seen him angry and humiliated; she had seen him victorious; she had seen him naked. She had seen him in lust. She'd seen him having sex. Truthfully, she knew what went on inside his head, probably more than Harry. It occurred to her that maybe she had seen the entirety of Draco Malfoy.

Unlike Harry, Draco didn't feel obliged to hide his emotions. Just like Harry was hiding the fact that he wasn't ready to be in a relationship with Ginny. He just sucked it up and did what the world expected of him, and was probably falling apart on the inside. Maybe that was the reason for the chasm between them—because he was hiding that from her too.

"Are you paying attention Mrs. Malfoy?"

For a moment, it didn't register that it referred to her. Across the room, Draco pointedly raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, off with the fairies."

"Well, the holidays aren't quite here," Slughorn said tartly. "Your attention would be much appreciated."

A small piece of parchment landed on her desk shortly after Slughorn commenced talking about healing potions for magical burns.

 _Thinking about me?_

Hermione rolled her eyes. When she looked over, he wasn't looking at her. Along with the angry, humiliated, pleased and lustful Draco, there was also the playful Draco. It veered between downright mean to playful, always needling at her in some way.

But after class, she got the cold Draco. Barely acknowledging her presence. Fine by her, she told herself, but truthfully, she wanted mess with him until she got a reaction. She wanted to push his buttons and watch him bristle. But really, ever since he recovered from his illness, he'd been moody as fuck.

"There's a Hogsmeade day tomorrow, ahead of the Yule Ball. Are you going?" she asked.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Sorry?"

"To the ball."

"Same dress as before."

"You can't"

"Of course I can."

"A Malfoy can't wear the same dress twice. You might as well burn the other one, because you can't be seen in it again."

"Of I could just wear it and not give a flying fig."

"Not an option," he stated.

"Ugh," Hermione wailed loudly. "I don't know why this pretence in front of people neither of us care about."

"Because unlike you, I have to live in this society."

Hermione bit her lips together. She supposed she understood as his situation was bad enough without drawing attention to them not living up to the Malfoy standards. It was the Malfoy way. Don't show weakness, even if it was all illusion. Keeping up with illusion just wasn't an option for her, because she had less than ten pounds and not a single galleon to her name.

"And seriously, get something nice. Your style does leave some things to be desired."

"You didn't exactly complain last time. It was a nice dress. I'll just change the color of it."

"Honestly, it was a little on the cheap side. Why are you fighting me on this? Just get a new gown. It's not that hard."

Honestly, she'd hate to have to go to Harry and ask for more money for yet another ballgown. Or maybe it was time not to keep up with illusions, because that was a Malfoy thing. "I can't afford to," she admitted and he turned to look at her.

"What? You can't afford to buy a gown?"

"No."

"Since when?"

"Since a while back. Last year maybe." She tried hard not to be embarrassed by this. Money was his thing, what mattered to him. It didn't matter to her.

"Last year? How'd you buy the last gown?"

"Harry bought it."

Draco rose. "I'm sorry? I thought I heard you say that Harry Potter's buying my wife's clothes. Is that what you're tell me? Did you think there would be any circumstances that I would be okay with that? Fucking hell! Has Harry bought you other stuff?"

Hermione didn't answer. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"If you need money, just say so."

"I don't need money."

"You can't even buy a dress. How are you going get through the holidays? Is Harry going to support you?"

"Actually, I'm going to lease out my parents' house and then I'll have a steady stream of income."

"And you'll be homeless. Is Harry going to take care of you?"

"And it is none of your business. And like hell am I spending Christmas anywhere near you or your psycho parents before you even consider something like that. It is simply not going to happen. I am leaving on the train in a couple of weeks and there is nothing for you to say about it."

"Should we test that theory?" he said, moving toward her.

"Is that a road you want to go down? What are you going to do, beseech a tribunal for your wife's obedience?" How had the conversation devolved to this so fast? Was that the first time she had referred to herself as his wife?

"Tomorrow," he said, putting a finger to her chest, " _the Malfoys_ are going to Hogsmeade to buy a fucking dress! Fucking hell," he roared and walked away.

Alright, maybe getting the pill had been completely unnecessary, because there was no way in hell she would even consider sleeping with him. Also, she had expected that Draco wouldn't be ecstatic about Harry buying her ballgown, but she hadn't expected him to act like it was the end of the world. His complete sense of identity threatened. And it may be worth not mentioning that there was a good chance she would be staying with Harry over Christmas. Time to dig up some long-lost relation to drag out.

A/N A chapter that took some wrangling and ended up going nowhere near where I intended it to. Sometimes they just have their own agendas.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Draco stood patiently waiting for Hermione to come out of their apartment. What the hell was she doing in there? It was well past midday. Unlike eager third years, they weren't rushing off to Hogsmeade right after breakfast. With age came wisdom, and with age, you know to go once the young ones were crashing from their sugar rushes and notions of freedom.

Finally, Hermione arrived, looking bland in jeans, boots and an anorak. They looked utterly mismatched.

"Let's go," she said with a shrug.

"I can tell you are brimming with excitement."

The icy wind hit them as they walked out of the castle along the well-trodden path to Hogsmeade, where due to vacant shops Madam Maulkin had set up a temporary store ahead of the winter ball. It seemed people were just not as prepared for such things this year. With everything that had happened over the last year, it had perhaps not been high on mind.

"Hey Draco,—"

"Fuck off!" Draco yelled back before they finished whatever slur they were going for. A part of him didn't want Hermione to hear it. Also, he didn't want to hear it. In the past, he would have made them suffer for their impudence, but he plain couldn't afford it. And they knew it.

They kept walking without missing a step and Draco could hear the fifth year Slytherins laughing behind them.

In way, he didn't blame them. They were Slytherins needling at a weakness. It was what Slytherins did. And they knew full well he couldn't respond. Maybe he was more surprise that it didn't burn as much as it used to. Maybe he'd been embarrassed to the point that he had none left.

The countryside was white and the air crisp. It was nice and still, the only sound the crunching underneath their feet. Hermione had her arms wrapped around her. "Why don't you get a better coat?" he asked.

"It's fine."

Rolling his eyes, he kept going. Apparently he had to get her a coat too.

There were still straggler students around when they reached Hogsmeade, although most that were still around were shut up in the various shops, and probably the older students were probably in the Three Broomsticks. It would be inviting trouble to go in there—another little fact he hated. If Hermione wanted to go, he would just have to leave without her.

The last thing he wanted was to run into Potter or Weaselby. Both were irrational messes as far as he was concerned, and he literally had no idea what would set them off. Some observed slight and they came out with fists. Even then, Draco would not be in a position to defend himself. Least of all against war heros, which left him with Hermione having to defend him. And that was really more humiliation than he could handle.

They walked to Madam Maulkins and the door tinkled as they walked into the warm shop.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy. What a pleasant surprise," Mrs. Maulkin said, coming over. There was a tightness in her voice, but she was too intent on the sale to turn him away. The Malfoys had, after all, spent a good chunk of money in this shop over the years, and money still talked.

A couple of sixth year Hufflepuffs were browsing through the racks. They whispered amongst themselves and then hurriedly left the store. Alright, maybe he did find that somewhat satisfying.

"We need a dress. A gown," he stated.

Hermione still stood with her arms crossed and a pout on her face.

"Oh of course," Madam Maulkin said brightly and turned away.

"Careful," Draco said. "Or the wind will change and your face will stay that way."

"That is the dumbest saying ever. Where did it even come from?"

Draco didn't have an answer, but he wandered around the shop, looking at the selection. Madam Maulkin always had an eclectic choice of inventory. Had to cater to every taste, he supposed.

The woman returned with four gowns on hangers held high in her hands. "Here are some of my newest."

Stepping closer to Hermione, he leaned down to her ear. "By newest, she means most expensive."

"Maybe you have trained people to take advantage of you," Hermione whispered back.

"There's a reason they're expensive. Now go change into one."

Hermione gave him a dirty look, but then followed Madam Maulkin into the changing room. Meanwhile, Draco walked to the front door and turned the lock. There was no reason they should be disturbed. And really, they didn't want to come in here if he was here, did they? So, he was just circumventing the discovery process.

Walking back, he sat down on the pink sofa and sighed. He heard the sounds of Madam Maulkin talking brightly in the changing room, and then she pulled the curtain back.

This was more of a cocktail dress with a shorter skirt. Blue-greenish with a sweetheart neckline. The material was silk and it shone. Black underskirt. Hermione clearly looked uncomfortable and Draco smiled. "Ah, that's pretty," Draco said. "Turn around."

Madam Mauklin stood by expectantly and Hermione threw him a dirty look before she complied.

"It is definitely a contender. What do you think, Mrs. Malfoy? Do you like it?"

Hermione didn't say anything. Clearly this was out of her comfort zone and she tended to go quiet when pushed into things she didn't feel comfortable doing.

"No, I think my wife wants to try on something else. Maybe something more dramatic."

"I have just the thing," Madam Maulkin said and urged Hermione back into the dressing room. An elf appeared with a glass of champagne on a silver plate and bowed deeply as he stretched it out.

"Don't mind if I do," Draco said and took the flute, taking a sip. It wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst. What he really liked was sitting there, drinking champagne as Hermione paraded in dresses. Probably because she hated every moment of it—because this was clearly a thing belonging to his station rather than hers. Not that he'd actually done this before, but there was something very compelling about it.

It took a while, but Hermione returned in a proper gown this time. Dove grey silk, with a large skirt. It was stunning. The gray actually made her hair and skin look richer in tone. His eyes lingered over it, over her form. "This is why you pay for expensive things," he said, finally looking Hermione in the eyes. The dress made her uncomfortable. It was stunning. "Madam Maulkin, would you excuse us for a moment?"

"Of course," the woman said with a beaming smile and then swept out into the back room.

Hermione didn't know where to put her arms and Draco put his champagne glass to side and rose. "Do you like it?"

"It's a beautiful dress."

"It's a stunning dress. How does it make you feel?"

Draco went to stand behind her and looked back at them through the mirror. They looked good. She didn't answer the question. "I think you like it."

"It's extravagant."

"Absolutely. That is the point."

Her shoulders were bare and her skin took smooth and even. For a moment, he wanted to touch, to reach down and kiss it. Instead, he walked around her, eyeing the dress from every angle. "Oh, I think this is the one."

"It's your money."

"You know, I get why men buy things for women. It makes you feel all… ownerish."

"That's despicable."

"Is it?" he said with a smile. "What is it you hate about it? Because I find it downright sexy. In fact, I think I am totally turned on right now."

"Because you feel in control," she said.

"Is that what it is?" She was looking him in the eyes, a challenge in there. "Oh, I think you like it more than you admit."

"And why would I like it?"

"There is a long history, isn't there, of men buying stuff for their women."

"I'm not…" she started, but she drifted off, clearly heading into unchartered territory, because a marriage certificate said the opposite. As was the shit going on in his pants. As was her response when he touched her inside hers.

"Are you sure?"

Her eyes were unreadable. Shiny and deep. No, she wasn't entirely sure. Neither of them were. Unable to help himself, he drew her to him, his lips seeking hers. Sweetness flooded his mind as he kissed her, his lips exploring hers, her taste, her warmth. Because right now, in that dress, she felt like his. And that was a feeling that hit him in the gut.

His breath was ragged against hers as he broke the kiss, and her eyes were open, wanting to know what this all meant. All he wanted was to submerge his entire consciousness in another kiss. To just lose himself in it, in her. Every part of his body was atuned to it. Her head was in his hands. All he had to do was reach for it, and heaven awaited. "Fuck."

Drawing away from her, he felt stung. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If he didn't stop, there was a real risk that pink sofa was going to see more action than intended. If he didn't pull himself together, they would sleep together again and before long, there would be consequences. Consequences that were for the rest of his life. Consequences that would devastate his family—and give the Ministry what they wanted.

From deep in his gut, he groaned and turned away from her, standing there with her bee stung lips, looking utterly gorgeous in a gown he'd just bought her—which apparently tickled his fancy in a way he hadn't been prepared for.

"We'll take the gray one. Put in on the Malfoy account," he called back to Madam Maulkin and then swiftly left the shop. The icy blast of air was what he needed right then. It ripped into his clothes, and it felt like punishment he deserved. He needed a drink so badly, he was prepared to risk the Three Broomsticks.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

The gown hung on the wardrobe and Hermione stood watching it. It was beautiful, but so impractical. Where would she store this monstrosity? She had nowhere to take it. Surely Malfoy had a room somewhere at Malfoy Manor for used ballgowns. Although she hated the idea of one of her things in Malfoy Manor. It was just one connection too far, because their lives outside this little flat weren't linked at all, and she wanted to keep it that way—him too.

Although he'd been ignoring her like the plague the last few days, which was quite a feat in a flat this small. He'd stayed out late last night, she assumed at the library, because he had nowhere else to go. The Slytherins were still half condescending, part scared and the rest reticent to be seen with him.

And now he was alienating her as much as he could because he wanted her—and he didn't like it. Also, he couldn't afford to. Quite a pickle he was in.

"I'm going to a dinner party tonight," she called out of the bedroom, hearing him arrive downstairs. "You're not invited."

"I'm crushed," he mumbled sarcastically.

When she left the bedroom, he was leaning against the kitchen bench, looking bored and distracted. "Is that what you're wearing?" he asked with disapproval as he looked at her jeans.

"It's a Gryffindor dinner party. More like a cosy get together."

A smile formed on his lips. "Well, have fun. Don't forget what happened the last time you got drunk." No, she had certainly not forgotten, and neither had he. It was there, under the surface of everything. The new battleground between them.

"Do something more than once and it becomes a habit," she warned. "So maybe you should be on your best behaviour—or abject poverty awaits. Your parents would be so disappointed in you." Maybe it was a little cruel to taunt him with his parents disowning him as they were practically the only people he had left. Alright it was cruel, but since when had they not been cruel?

His narrowed eyes considered her as he chewed his cheeks. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"You mean like having fun?" she said lightly as she walked to the door. "A foreign concept, I'm sure."

It was icy cold outside as she walked down the open corridor toward Harry's flat. It seemed impossible they could throw a dinner party in such a small flat, but somehow, they had managed. A table had been found somewhere and they sat around it, barely squeezing in between the table and walls, but it was warm and lit, and everything she loved. Laughter and joy. The table was overflowing with food, and even wine. This she hadn't had in a long time and she had missed it.

"Hey, Hermione," Parvati said. "It feels like ages since I've seen you. How are you?"

"Well, you know. White knuckling it until Christmas. Are you going home?"

"Yes, we're going our separate ways for Christmas. I guess there's no point asking you the same?"

"No, I am absolutely not spending Christmas anywhere near Malfoy or his parents," she said and looked around the room. Neville and Hannah were sitting together, looking cosy. Now that was a marriage that had just worked right off the bat. Hermione wouldn't have picked them to work so well, but they did. Neville was so easy around Hannah. It was like he had found his home.

A spear of something shot through her. Envy maybe. Only an insane person wouldn't be jealous of that. Except perhaps Malfoy, who would refuse to be envious of Neville out of principle.

Harry and Ginny were sitting at opposite ends of the table, talking to the persons next to them. Hermione got the impression they were ignoring each other. All might not be well, but Harry wouldn't share something like that. Harry hid his pain—he always had.

Ron was there, but Susan wasn't. A cup in hand, he had the rosy cheeks and glassy eyes he did when he was drinking. In fact, she wasn't sure he ever stopped. Rumor had it Susan wasn't investing in the marriage at all. In a way, it hurt Hermione to think it. They could actually be good together, but it wasn't surprising that Susan wasn't signing up to being involved with a drunk lush. No one in their right mind would.

Worse was that they couldn't help him. And Susan was probably smart enough to know she couldn't either.

Her attention brought Ron's and he smiled. Getting up, he moved around the table closer to her. At least he wasn't hiding it anymore, but Hermione didn't know if that was good or bad. Maybe he was trying to be more honest about what was going or—or he had just given up.

"Hey, Mione," he said. The thing with him like this was that you didn't know what you'd get from him. Sometimes he was hateful and disparaging, other times he was mellow. And he could switch in a blink of an eye. "How are things?"

"Okay, I suppose. How are things with you?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "Oh, getting by, I suppose," he said. Hermione wanted to push him to talk about how he truly felt, but also knew the reason he was drinking was to avoid that, and this wasn't the time or place.

"You going home for Christmas?"

"Yeah. Harry's coming. You can come too. You know that."

"I know." As of yet, she hadn't decided what she wanted for Christmas. And going to the Weasleys might be too painful. Nothing would remind her more of the past.

"How's marriage with Malfoy?" Ron said, saying Malfoy with distaste.

"Living up to all my hopes," Hermione said sarcastically and Ron laughed.

"I hope you're giving him hell."

"Oh, believe me I am torturing him." Although the last thing Ron would want to hear would be that she was torturing him by him wanting so badly to sleep with her but couldn't. Even worse would be telling him he actually could because she was on the pill. It was a private little war Ron would just not get. But effectively she was torturing him like nothing else before. Same outcome.

"Slimy git," Ron said and took another deep slug of his whiskey. Ron was never ever going to forgive Draco for the past. And it was probably less about the war than the time before. The animosity between them were in their bones. Then he pulled out a quart of whiskey and poured some more into his glass. "Want some?"

"Sure," Hermione said and pulled her glass over. "The more I drink, the less you will."

"Don't worry, I have more," he said with a smile, missing the point. Or maybe he didn't and was just warning her to not go down that road.

-0-

Hermione wasn't drunk drunk, but it wasn't the time for complex tasks. "Potter sucks cock," she mumbled as she got to the entrance to her flat. As of yet, she still hadn't managed to change the password. Draco's fault. Such petty pettiness. It was really unbecoming, she thought.

The flat was dark and Hermione breathed in the air for a moment. It had been a lovely evening. She'd relaxed and laughed in a way she hadn't in a long time. Draco really was missing out. How could he live his life like that without any laughter? The guy never relaxed. Anally retentive, that was what he was. Hermione giggled.

It was cold. Also she had lost her sweater somewhere, because it had been so warm at Harry's. She would have to go back for it in the morning. With mostly steady feet, she walked up to the bedroom, finding Draco in bed, reading with a candle.

"It's my night in the bed," he stated.

"Oh, come on. Don't be so childish," she said walking to the bed. It looked so welcoming, while the sofa was cold and uncomfortable. "I love the bed."

"I swear to Merlin, Hermione, you are not getting in this bed."

"Why not?" she said with a smile. "I know you want me to. Drunk and unwitting as I am, I'll probably let you do things to me that I normally wouldn't."

"Seriously, fuck off, Granger."

"I just want to sleep. You won't even notice I'm there."

"This is my night in the bed, and I swear I will transfigure you into something unpleasant," he warmed. She noted the seriousness in his voice. Oh, he feared her getting in the bed, and he probably would transfigure her into something he could hide in a box until someone came looking for her. Well, that would be embarrassing.

"Fine, you're such a killjoy. You never have any fun. You missed your chance, mate, because you know how rarely I get drunk."

"Out," he finally ordered and Hermione smiled, pleased with her endeavours.

"Enjoy the bed, all alone. It's a cold, cold night." Without looking back, she walked out of the bedroom and downstairs. Grabbing the blanket, she lay down on the sofa, still smiling. She'd had no intention of sleeping in the bed—she'd just been messing with him.

If he'd called her bluff, it would have been a full-brown mess, because if he'd started kissing at her and looking at her like he had when she'd presented the gown to him, she might not have been able to… stop. It had been a gamble, but one she could afford, and he couldn't. Alright, maybe a small part of her was a little disappointed. A dull ache lived inside her. Not that she wanted to examine it, but it was there nonetheless. It would be so much easier to sleep with him if she had alcohol to blame it on. Just another oops. A really bit oops from his perspective. She'd give anything to know what he was thinking right then.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Looking down, Draco pulled a piece of lint off the gray material of his robes. He'd chosen gray, because Hermione was wearing grey, except his was darker. He wasn't looking forward to this. It was just something that had to be done—like most other things in his life of late. Actually trying to think of the things he would want to do, he basically settled on drinking. Alone.

Things had gotten tense between him and Hermione. They had never not been tense, it just shifted forms, and at the moment, he was on the retreat. The thing meant to push her was now pushing him. It was all part of the game between them.

The bedroom door opened and she appeared. The gray silk dress. One of those that made everything pause, including him. It didn't look like her at all. It was like a doll version of her. Her wild curls were swept up like a crown around her head. Her lips weren't smiling.

"Why don't you like to look pretty?" he asked.

"Because I'm not pretty."

Like this she looked pretty, but he wasn't about to say it. But no, this wasn't her. Hermione lived in her head more often than not. Although it was a place she wasn't as comfortable beingin as she had used to be. Because maybe part of her was still back in the war—like the rest of them. The war refusing to relent its grip on them. "Fishing for compliments?"

Hermione threw him a dirty look. Dirty looks in that dress. He liked it, even as he had tried very hard not to like anything about her. Certainly not how she'd shown up drunk, trying to get in bed with him.

They hadn't talked about it since it had happened. Mostly because he had ignored—and essentially avoided—her. Because he had more to lose than she did. A fundamental difference between them.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded and swung her cloak around her. If he'd thought of it, he'd have gotten a matching cloak, but he'd run out of the shop like the hounds of hell had been chasing him. But the thing was that he couldn't run that far. There was nowhere to run from her—there was only resisting. All day, every day.

Holding out his arm, he waited for her to take it. "How are we going to play this?" he asked.

This ball wasn't with the olds, who they had to convince of their unity. This was their own class, who wouldn't buy their unity for a moment. "We just do what we need to do," she said.

What exactly did that mean?

Her wrist rested in the crook of his elbow. In fact, they hadn't touched since… Since the kiss. The warm of her radiated into his flesh as they walked through the hall in silence. There was something comfortable about this, and something anything but. It felt unsettled between them. Almost like an inevitability they refused to recognize. Was it inevitable that he fail at this?

The great hall had been cleared of all long tables, and smaller round ones surrounded the dance floor in the middle. It was decorated with ice and snow. A million candles. Everything sparkled. The hall was already crowded with people, dressed in their finery, laughing and joking. Everyone was here to enjoy themselves. Whereas he was specifically trying not to enjoy himself, because that would probably let his guard down and he'd end up kissing her—which neither of them would want seen publicly.

Draco chuckled. The worst thing Hermione could imagine tonight would be him kissing her publicly. Good to know. Not that he would want it either, but maybe he wanted to annoy her more. The last think he would want would be her kissing him privately.

All around them, people noticed them. Noticed Hermione in her dress, them as a couple. They stared. Together they were definitely a curiosity. He expected people would be interested in how the school's most unlikely couple were doing. He certainly wasn't talking to anyone about it. And he had no idea what Hermione was saying to people. Although he was pretty sure she hadn't mentioned they'd actually slept together—once.

Would they be shocked? Potter would probably whip out his wand if he found out. It gave Draco a subversive pleasure. Fuck, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, because he both enjoyed and feared the attraction between them.

Couples were dancing and across the room he saw Potter and the she-weasel dancing. Hermione noticed them too.

"Now what?" she asked.

He was the wrong person to ask. Part of him needed to be here, but he didn't want to be. Mingling just wasn't an option. Hermione was the only person he hung with. Sad as that was. "I guess we dance," he said.

"Alright," she said with a sigh, "but I have to go say hello to my friends."

"Go, then," he said and he watched as she did. Taking a seat at an empty table, he simply watched the people here. People's he'd known for years. Maybe he was pleased that Christmas was coming and he could leave for a while. Not shut away in a tiny hole with the person who hates him the most—who he was now disturbingly attracted to. Kudos to the Ministry for a truly evil plan.

Hermione laughed at something Potter said. Her friends complimented her dress and she blushed. Not one for taking compliments well.

"All alone, Malfoy?" some fourth year Slytherin girl said, and he wished he wasn't so hamstrung into good behaviour. The little bitch didn't deserve his anger, certainly not his freedom. He turned his attention back to Hermione across the room. There was something not right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He wasn't seeing something.

As he watched, she looked over at him. Then she looked away quickly as if she had been caught looking. Caught by whom, though? It certainly wasn't him, considering that of late, she had never really fought against their kisses, or her attraction. But now she was embarrassed being caught looking in his direction.

Clearly, a public show of any kind of softening between them wasn't something she wanted.

Finally she left her friends behind and returned to him. That dress was something. She looked… beautiful.

"Why are you here right now?" he asked.

"What?"

"Why did you just leave your friends to come over here?"

"I don't know, because you're wide open. What's come over you?"

"Nothing," he said, rising from his seat. "Let's dance and then we can leave. I can leave, you can linger with your friends."

"Well, thank you very much," she said sarcastically.

It had been a while since they'd danced. Her hand in his, his other at her back. The soft, buttery material of the silk. Closeness. This truly was torture. There was a stiffness about her that wasn't normally there. Something had her worried.

"You really don't want your friend to know, do you?" he asked.

"Know what?"

"What we do."

"We don't do anything."

"We're trying really hard not to do anything. Well, I'm trying. I'm sweating like a whore in church, but you're sweating now."

"We both have things to lose."

"Behind doors, you don't act like it. And you're certainly not stupid enough to think things kept behind doors will stay that way."

Her head held high, she wasn't looking at him, but there was that something in her. As if she had a secret.

"Why are you not fighting it? You fight it now, but you didn't. How were you going to keep me knocking you up a secret?"

Her eyes levelled at him. "Because you can't afford to give in."

"You have remarkable trust in my strength." Which was incredibly stupid as his trust in himself was paper thin. "No, there's something else. Tell me."

"It has never put me wrong depending on you acting in self-interest."

"Which has already failed once. No, there's something else. Tell me." His grip on her hand was a little hard. She was keeping a secret from him and he hated it, because she was using it against him. Letting go of her hand, he grabbed her around the neck and drew her into a kiss, which she dodged.

"Don't!" she warned. "Neither of us can afford to go down this route."

"But somehow you can afford sleeping with me—away from prying eyes. Why is that? You think it's beyond me to make a scene right now?"

"You're impossible. Fine. I got some muggle contraceptive."

The words sank in. She believed this consequences would avert disaster. "And you've been toying with me. That's…" The words wouldn't form. It had been inordinately effective. He'd been out of his mind with worry and lust for… "For how long? Even the first time?"

"No."

No, because she'd been worried as hell then. Now she wasn't. "What makes you think it would even be effective?"

"Muggle contraception. Because it isn't barrier based like magic. It's hormonally based."

This meant nothing to him.

"Besides, most people here think we live in shacks and carry pitchforks, ready to burn any witch we come across."

Granted, that was true. "That's a pretty big leap of faith."

"Having faith in wizards underestimating muggles. I'll take the odds."

Draco snorted and they returned to dancing. Well played, he had to admit. But there was something much more important here. If she was right, there was nothing to stop them from sleeping together. She believed there would be no consequences, all because she had faith that the Ministry would not even consider muggle contraceptive potions.

Emotions and thoughts were competing inside him. Prominent was his own dismissal of any faith in muggle remedies. But the question was not of faith, it was of the Ministry not bothering with muggle remedies. So now he was in the position between trusting in his own prejudices and Hermione's faith in the wizarding world's prejudices. She obviously believed in muggle contraceptive.

"Okay, we're leaving," he said, drawing on her elbow.

"What?" she replied, resisting.

"We're going to test your theory."

"Wha..? We…" she baulked.

"Don't have much faith in your theory now?"

"That's not…"

"So put your money where your mouth is. Wifely duties, and all that," he said with a smile. And now the ball was firmly back in her court. The game had completely switched. Walking backward, Draco moved away from her. "See you at home, darling."

Her drawn mouth showed she wasn't happy, but it didn't matter. He'd bet his entirely fortune neither of them would be sleeping on the sofa that night. She might despise this attraction between them more than he did, but there was no denying it was there.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

"What's the matter?" Ginny asked. "You look worried."

"What? No, I'm not worried," Hermione said. The music was changing and the dancers paused for a moment. She'd been so distracted, she'd forgot where she was for a minute.

"He hasn't been giving you a heard time lately? I swore he looked angry before. Then again he always looks like that, doesn't he?"

Truthfully, she hated that they were watched, but it wasn't surprising how curious people were about them, she supposed. "No, everything is fine." Except he'd just discovered that she had been lying, and purposefully torturing him with his own desire. More importantly, there was nothing standing in the way of that desire now, and that had her stomach feeling like it was going over severe dip in the road, or that big drop down a rollercoaster. Everything about Draco was like a rollercoaster. Severe drops, uncomfortable turns and being heaved out of her comfort zone. And now she had to head back to their apartment where he was waiting for her.

"You're looking worried again," Ginny accused.

"No, I'm just tired," Hermione said with a smile. They all thought she and Draco hated each other, and they did. It was just that the hate had taken a turn they would never expect.

"Maybe you should retire for the night."

Yes, that sounded utterly logical, didn't it? Maybe if she stayed really long at the ball, he'd fall asleep. It wasn't as if she was fearful of heading back. It wasn't that. It was more that she didn't trust herself. Because things would happen, could happen. It was herself she didn't trust. Draco was completely reconciled in what he wanted. To him it was the fear of tying them together for the rest of their lives that held him back. With that gone, he saw no problems.

Physically, they managed quite nicely. So why was she feeling so antsy now? It wasn't any concern about physical ramifications. There was the little fact that she didn't want her friends to know, because that was just a pandora's box of other people's emotions and convoluted histories. For her and Draco, their recent history outweighed the old one at this point.

No, her qualms stemmed from how things would change between them if they did this. And she knew exactly what 'this' entailed. They wouldn't be unwilling flatmates bickering, or enemies griping at each other. This could change things, and she didn't know how. It had to change things, didn't it?

Potentially this was something they should talk about. "Hmm, I guess I should head home," she said and hid the deep, bolstering breath she needed to take. Ginny was trying to read her and it was annoying.

"Again that dress is stunning," Ginny said.

Hermione had forgotten about the dress—been distracted by the developments. "Yes, thank you. It is beautiful."

"Well, I had better head back. I think Harry is getting quite drunk."

It had seemed that Harry had enjoyed the evening and Hermione was glad. Now they all had their own situations to deal with and she had better man up and deal with hers. "I'll see you tomorrow." Unless something goes seriously wrong, she continued mentally.

After the dancing, the revelations and the worry, she was too warm to need her coat to walk back to her apartment. And she was too prideful to drag her feet. This was something she needed to face, so she had better get on with it.

Was he up? Was he waiting? The next few minutes would spell out what he wanted. Maybe the removal of this barrier was making him pause too.

Taking another deep breath, she entered the door to their apartment. The warmth inside seeped out. Maybe she had chilled a little on the walk.

Draco stood leaning against the kitchen counter, his formal robes gone, just in his dark grey trousers and white shirt. Clearly hadn't gone to sleep to avoid this confrontation. Maybe he wanted to bitch at her for lying to him and for torturing him. Or he wanted something else entirely. Pushing himself off the counter, he walked toward her purposefully.

"Maybe we should—" she started, but she didn't get a chance to finish the sentence, because he kissed her. For some reason, this took her by surprise. All these unanswered things, and he just put it aside.

The sweetness of the kiss tugged at her conscious mind, lulling her from her thoughts and worries. How was it he could do that to her? Warmth and softness, firm desire. There was nothing hidden in the kiss. It was simple. He wanted her. But in what way and for how long, her mind asked. There were no answers. But there was distraction.

The kiss deepened, his tongue exploring her mouth, his arms snaking around her, drawing her to him. He did not want to talk. Maybe it was just easier to not talk. It was the only way they seemed to be united.

The kiss broke and Hermione heavy breaths tore through her chest. "Shouldn't we—" she started as he traced down the side of her neck.

"No," he stated.

Hermione blinked, trying to clear her mind as he teased the delicate skin of her neck. Sensations were assaulting her from every sense and she was trying to think. But he didn't want to think. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to put all that aside and just do this.

Her lips felt bruised and her body ached for closeness. Maybe he was right and they should just focus on this. On the desire her internal warnings was so fiercely combatting.

Like magnets, their lips sought each other again and the pleasure of it drowned out the voice in her head that warned her to be cautions and considered about this. This felt like it was flowing out of her. Years of it.

The taste of him, the scent. The closeness. The kiss. In these things, they seemed so united. His hand at the back of her neck held her captive, but she'd stopped fighting. The desire flowed and it lit every part of her body.

His hand ran over her bare shoulder, the warm of it seeping into her body, goosebumps rising along her skin. His fingers traced down across her chest to the neckline of the dress. He broke the kiss. "This dress has to go."

"Don't rip the dress," she demanded.

"Why, you can't wear it again."

"I'm keeping the dress," she warned.

"Fine, turn around."

Turning around, she placed her hands on the cold stone wall and waited, her heavy breath still tearing in and out of her lungs. Lightly, his fingers touched at the base of her neck. The slight sensation took over. Her entire being focused on the delicate touch, connecting energies through her body. But instead of moving down to the small button at the back of her dress, they moved up her neck and into her hair, releasing the pins that held her hair in place.

Every movement, she felt. Her hair releasing down over her shoulders, adding sensation along her skin. She swallowed. Why couldn't she get her breath under control? His breath, she felt him at her neck again, his lips tracing her skin as his fingers traced lower, down to the buttons that held her encased and protected in this dress.

One by one they gave and then the dress fell. The air was cool against her body, his warm body behind her. Rightly or wrongly, this felt so very nice. Maybe it was the only thing that ever felt nice between them. Or really, had ever felt nice in a really long time.

In a way, they were so very in tune, but maybe they needed to fight to get here. The fighting made her raw, wore down her defenses. And that very rawness made this feel so delicate and compelling—and dangerous.

His hand at her neck cupped her cheek and his thumb stroked across her lips. Parting her lips, she gently bit down on it, feeling the length of him to her back. This desire between them was beyond doubt—the only thing in all this she could trust. It was genuine. And the way this felt, more than anything she had ever felt before.

Releasing his thumb, she turned around and pressed her body to his, snaking her arms around his neck. Why did she feel so scared? Because things would change. Before, when they had succumbed, it had been tension breaking, but this felt deliberate. She had come tonight, knowing this would happen—even if she hadn't fully acknowledged it.

His lips sought hers again and it lulled her as his kisses always seemed to do, chased away her worries and replaced it a need for more, for him. His arms around her, he drew her fully to him and her legs enveloped his hips. They were eye to eye, his icy grey eyes. A flush stained his pale cheeks, his eyes classy like ice. He looked beautiful.

It was just a moment, then he kissed her again, breaking when she felt him walk her up the steps to the bedroom and then lay her down on the bed. Stepping away, he undid his shirt and drew it off. It gave her a moment of watching him and reiterating that they were doing this. Not that she could probably stop this now even if she wanted to.

He came to her and she enveloped him, loving how it felt them being skin to skin. If nothing else, this they could do right. Her thighs parted for him, cradling him. How was it this felt so utterly compelling? It felt like it had to be.

Shifting down, his lips traced across her chest, then drew one of her nipples into his warm mouth and teased it mercilessly. Lightning desire shot deep into her belly and burned furiously, wetness seeping out of her. She wasn't sure she could take any more of this. Her hands stroked across his bare shoulders, just needing to touch.

His lips released her assaulted nipple and stroked lower, then lifted off her as he shifted back, drawing her panties down her thighs. Her breath deepened as his eyes perused her body. This was him doing this to her. All she could do was wait for him. Her breath hitched as he leaned down and his mouth closed around her clit, sharp sensation spearing out throughout her body. "Oh, god." The strokes of his tongue and the gentle suction was too much. She moaned until surges of pleasure flowed through her as her body shook. Wave after wave rippling through her until she was so sensitive his teasing grew painful. Not that she wanted it to stop. It was just so… she needed this.

There was no reprieve, because he moved up to her, his weight on his elbows. She felt the tip of him at her entrance. Her body was still reeling with the tail-end of her orgasm as he pressed inside her, her sensitized insides feeling every inch as he pressed inside. He groaned deeply, his mouth by her ear, the sound of his pleasure reverberating through her mind.

Her body shook with the quickly building tension, every nerve ending in her body attune with him and his careful movement pressing into her. She felt full, she felt united. More so as he encased himself fully in her body. A unique satisfaction. In a sense, she wasn't her anymore—she was this being who needed him. So much of her had been about not needing anyone, or anything, but she needed him right now. She needed him to complete this with her.

With soft undulations, he ground into her. Pleasure soared inside her and she clutched him, needing him deeper inside her. Her body convulsed around him. Urgent lips sought hers and his tongue surged into her mouth, as if he was claiming all of her.

Already the beginning of a new orgasm was encroaching. Not in a rush this time, instead slowly build, higher and fiercer with each slow stroke into her. Her arm clasped around his shoulder held him closer, holding on until his kisses faltered. As did his strokes. Under her fingers, his arms shook and his body tensed.

With a sharp climax, sharp pulses of her release washed over her, meeting his as he came deep inside her. Strong shudders worked through him as he released in pulses, his retaliating with her own. Drawing him to her, she held him as close as she could, their releases continuing until they finally faded to utter languidity. Everything was spent. There was nothing left.

Oh this was so bad, because how could she ever do without this? Her arms around him, she held him and they simply stayed there. Maybe if just to hold the infernal questions at bay for a while.

A/N Long time coming. PS. One of my historicals, The Discarded Wife under my historical author name Camille Oster, is free this weekend. I desperately need reviews for this book, so if you are that way inclined, I would be much appreciative. Or else just enjoy it.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Draco woke by Hermione shifting beside him. It startled him because he wasn't used to it. But something in him knew, because he didn't have a reaction like he normally would. A sound when he was sleeping would typically be terror inducing, but that was shifting.

With his eyes closed, he listened to her moving around the room, went into the bathroom. It was the day after the night before. So many questions ran through his head. Primarily, when were they going to do it again. Obviously not right now by the looks of it.

The water spilled from the shower inside the bathroom and he shifted up in the bed. His wife was in the bathroom having a shower. It was still an idea he couldn't wrap his head around. So much had been left unsaid. And undiscovered—such as if muggle contraceptive even worked. Last night he'd been fully willing to believe it. An attractive straw to grasp at.

The water turned off and she appeared, wrapped in a towel, brushed wet hair around her shoulders. Her skin was pink from the hot water.

"Where are you going?" he asked when she walked to the wardrobe.

"Last day of class."

"Don't tell me Hermione Granger is excited about going to class? What has become of the world?"

"They'll be back on in two weeks."

Which meant he'd be without her for two weeks. He'd be at home. It would be unbearable. Without her to argue with, to tease, to fight, to tempt. To fuck. They might have slept together twice now, but it had still felt like a revelation. "So where are you going?"

"London."

"By yourself."

"It's where I'm from. Where I've gone every Christmas since first year."

"Except you have no family to go to."

She dressed as he watched, loving the intimacy of it. "I will be in the bosom of the muggle world. Contrary to what you believe, there are things I miss."

"Like what?"

"Burgers. Oxford Street. Movies. The complete absence of arrogant wizards. Cappuccinos. Pizza. The list is endless, really. I might even get my nails done if the fancy strikes me."

Mostly he had no idea what she was referring to, but it was beside the point. "You have nowhere to live. You said there were muggles living in your parents' house."

"I'll manage."

"That's not good enough."

She turned to him with her hands on her hips. Now he didn't quite know what to say. "You are, of course, welcome—"

"To spend Christmas with your family? Do you remember that I was tortured in your living room? Good times. As much I wish to repeat it, I think I'll pass. And I'm pretty sure your father would repeat it if he learned what we just did."

"Technically it was the study."

With a snort, she turned around.

"You are my wife."

"Not in their eyes. Not in our eyes, right?" she said, looking back at him again.

How was he supposed to answer that? Because the sleeping together was now a requirement as far as he was concerned. "To the whole of the wizard world, we are man and wife."

"Except to every single person who knows us, who fully expect that we loath each other—which we do—and wouldn't go near each other with rather large barge poles."

"Well, we seem to have overcome that tendency. Alright, I have to admit, I don't particularly want to spend time at the manor either. Go stay with Potter, then."

Hermione was quiet for a moment. "I don't actually want to. I… need a break. I need to be away from all this," she said looking around as if she was suspicious of the walls. "I'm going to class," she stated, hauling her bag up on her shoulder.

"Wait," he said as she walked to the door. For some reason, it felt important not to let things stay as they were. "The Black family has this cottage in Morocco. If you want to get away, it would be perfect."

She listened.

"You're homeless and I don't particularly want to spend time at home, so why don't we go?"

"To Morocco? Together?"

"The alternative is to beg people to stay on their sofas. I know how much you love sleeping on sofas. The house is large. You can do what you want."

"I'll think about it," she said warily before walking out.

Draco wasn't sure where that had come from. He hadn't thought about that house for years. Actually, it had been a place he'd briefly considered if he'd catalogued somewhere to flee to, but had dismissed it as finable if someone sought it. There were records of it in the family history. The Death Eaters had been experts at finding hiding places. But it would certainly do as a place to escape to now.

In fact, the idea of escaping over the Christmas break was more and more appealing. It wouldn't be hot. It would be warm during the days and cold at night. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. Better than spending time at Malfoy Manor.

-0-

The day passed. Draco attended most classes and there were celebrations after. Hermione was off with the Gryffindors somewhere. Draco was at home. He had nowhere to go. It wasn't as though he hated it, because his tolerance for people was the lowest it had ever been, but he hated how dependent he was growing on Hermione. He felt flat without her. She breathed life in him. Now, those old, dark feelings that he'd slowly move away from were crashing back.

What he dreaded was how he'd feel when he returned home. The dark, heavy atmosphere. The guilt and grief—both his own and his parents'. Would it pick up just where it had left off?

No, the idea of going to Morocco sat like a shining jewel in his mind. Away from all of it. Maybe he would go alone if he had to, but he really wanted her to come. In part because he wanted to know what this was. They had just reached here and now they were going their separate ways. It may change everything. She might be murdered as she slept on a park bench somewhere—in the middle of winter.

No, he had to convince her. It would make him feel better. Her getting murdered now was probably more than he could bear. There was still threat. Obviously, she wasn't a pushover, but still. Everyone had a bad day the day they died.

The mental constructs of his contentment were ridiculously fragile and he feared anything coming in and changing things. Two weeks apart might change something—something that shifted things.

How much would she hate the way his mind thought now? Would she hate how much he felt dependant on her? Yes, probably. His happiness depended on her. It wasn't ideal, but they were all fucked up little bunnies right now, weren't they? They all had crutches and she had become his. What they had found in this bed was a large part of it. It fed something in him, something that had been starving.

In a few hours, they would be leaving. The train would take them away, back to the harsh world they had come from. Although he hadn't got a handle on how things had changed in the last five months. The wizarding world was probably still in the throws of its injuries. What new injuries would it wish to inflict on him? But he was stronger now.

-0-

The train stood waiting. Excited first years yelled in their small, high pitched voices. Had that ever been them. It was hard to connect with the person he had been back then. The child with a clean soul and clear conscience.

Hermione stepped out of the thestral drawn carriage and moved to pet the beast conveying them. They both saw these beasts now.

So here they were. It was time to leave. Potter and his people were on the platform and Draco knew Hermione needed to say goodbye to them.

The thestrals were ugly. Familiarity didn't make them prettier.

"Come to Morocco," he said quietly. "I want you to come."

"Why?"

"Because I feel better knowing where you are. I just don't cope well with risk right now." It hurt admitting it, but it was true. "My emotions seem to be missing some middling settings right now. I think things are the same for you. In Morocco, we can be… calm."

"I'm pretty sure it's not calm you're after."

Draco smiled. That was true. Then the smile melted. "I am worried my mind will go awry." That was truth if he had ever spoken it. He was worried about leaving behind what had become his cocoon, and the effect it would have on him. It was awful not to be able to trust oneself. "You being… material to me might not be what you want, but I'm not sure any of us have the luxury of worrying so much about what we want right now."

There was a frown on her brow as she continued patting the breast. Maybe these revelations of what went on inside his mind would have her run for the hills and she wouldn't come back at all. He wouldn't blame her.

"Say you'll come," he pressed. A part of him was taking advantage of her protectiveness. He knew it, but he had to use it, because he needed her to come.

"Fine," she finally said. "After Christmas."

Relief washed through him. Although he wasn't entirely sure what he feared about spending two weeks alone. Maybe this dependence wasn't a good thing, but it was there all the same. He just wasn't strong enough—fearing finding himself in the Slytherin common room, ready to flood the place with him in it. Hermione had perhaps never understood how fragile he was—had been. He didn't know.

It seemed this intimacy with Hermione had removed some of his protective shell and now he was raw. And vulnerable. Would he have done it if he'd known this would happen? Not sure he'd been able to stop himself.

It was time to part. He wanted to kiss her, but he couldn't. Everyone was here. It would be noticed, and it wasn't how people would expect them to behave.

"Bye," she said and slipped away, walking toward Potter. But she had agreed to come, and that was what he needed at the moment. It made facing his parents easier to bear.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

All the ickiness returned to Hermione as she stood watching Harry's house reveal itself. All the fear, sorrow and stress coursed through her system. How could Harry stand to live here? In part, she thought it was loyalty to Sirius. But then he and the Weasleys didn't really have anywhere to go, at least until the new Burrow was completed. For now, this was still the HQ.

Walking in, there was no screeching because there was no wall. A large hole had roughly been cut, leaving a view into the formal dining room that Harry never used. Other than that, it was still dark and gloomy. He really should brighten the place up, but Harry's mind didn't really run to home décor.

"Merry Christmas, Kreacher," Hermione said to the elf standing on the staircase, dusting portraits. The elf grumbled at her and tried to ignore her presence. Nothing had changed there when it came down to it. Who knew how Kreacher's mind worked. Harry tended to leave him alone and Kreacher still went by his business as he saw fit.

As expected, she found everyone in the kitchen. "Hermione!" they called and she was taken aback for a moment, almost a feeling of panic.

"Hey," she said and put her presents down on the table. It had been her distraction over the last week, going around Oxford Street with the shopping masses. She'd stayed clear of Diagon Alley because it felt as if everyone watched her when she went there. So they all had muggle presents. A large recipe coordinator for Mrs. Weasley, a fancy ballpoint pen for Mr. Weasley, a 'Shit Happens' shirt for Ron, chocolates for Ginny, alcohol for George and Percy and a Rugby jersey for Harry from his favourite team.

The kitchen smelled lovely as Mrs. Weasley fussed around, preparing the goose. There was something quite comforting about it.

"How was your week?" Harry asked, giving her a glass of elderflower wine.

"Good."

"I bet you're happy to be shot of Malfoy," Ron said, coming over. "Back in the crypt he crawled out of?"

"That's not funny," Hermione chided. "I think we have enough dead people to make fun of them."

Ron did look a little admonished.

"We are surprised he survived two terms with you," Harry said.

"Well, you know… can't kill him."

"You are more than welcome to stay here," Harry said. He'd probably insist if he learned she was staying at a cheap little hotel in Paddington. Her parent's house was rented out, so there was a bit of money now.

"I know. Thank you. I think I just need a bit of time away from people, you know."

"After the year you've had, no one is surprised," Ron said. "So what bad habits does he have that he doesn't want anyone to know? Picks his toes? Stinks to high heaven? I bet he reeks."

"And the last thing I want to talk about, Ron," Hermione said sharply.

"You arrived just in time, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said, carrying the goose to the table on a large platter. "Come sit, everyone."

They did and Hermione looked around the table, wishing she didn't feel so separated from them. But she did. Ginny looked as happy as Hermione had seen her in a while. Perhaps having everyone together was exactly what she needed. It made Hermione wonder how Harry was doing. Perhaps she would ask later, but Harry wouldn't tell her the truth. Harry covered—it's what he did.

She also wondered how Malfoy was doing, because she knew he wasn't looking forward to going home. But at Christmas, you did what you had to do.

"So what are you going to do with the rest of your holidays?" Ginny asked.

"I'm actually thinking about getting some sun somewhere. Italy, maybe?" Hermione asked.

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone." Part of her felt horrible lying to them all, but she had been lying to them for quite a while. Telling the truth would stun every person here.

"I never realized you were such a fan of solitude. I suppose you've always had your moments," Ginny said. "But to travel alone, that's a bit…" she drifted off without finishing her sentence. "You're more than welcome to stay here."

"I think I need to get to the point where I am comfortable in my own skin, you know?" It was a little of a barbed statement, because it was something that Ginny needed to work on more than anyone. Ginny was only alone when she was really bad. When not, she needed company, probably a little too much. But it was clear on her face that she didn't understand. Meanwhile, Ron was helping himself to another generous portion of whiskey. They all still had so much work to do, but at times they projected their own needs onto others.

Maybe she had the same fault. She didn't know. Right now, she had agreed to spend time in Morocco with Draco, and she wasn't entirely sure why. But there was something there she needed, in the physicality, in the intimacy. She both wanted it and feared it. "Oh by the way, after this, I might go fuck Malfoy's brains out." She didn't say it, but could imagine the stunned looked on all their faces, because to them that was a sheer impossibility. To her it was an impossibility, but it was there and to some degree, she craved it.

It was a vent for the anguish inside her, a means to tap the badness, or to combat it. When she was with him, physically, she felt none of the bad stuff. Everything was light, it was exploration and sensation and peace. And release.

They ate and it was delicious. For a moment, she missed her parents so intensely it hurt. She missed her childhood and the time before wizards had entered her life, when she had felt perfectly safe and loved.

Blinking, she chased the thoughts away. It wasn't the time to start crying for what was gone. They would never let her leave if she did. And she had to get out of here.

They ate and they drank and they opened presents. Ron and George got drunk. Ginny basked and Harry followed Hermione out when it was time for her to go.

"You sure you want to leave?" he asked.

"I think I need to," she said. He didn't need her to explain. "I will be back. Just not yet."

"How are things with Malfoy?"

She had no idea how to answer it. "Nothing is ever simple with Malfoy. He's had a rough time and he has his scars too."

"Everyone does."

And Malfoy had been designated as the villain of the whole charade. She didn't say it, but to some degree, Harry had to know how unfair that was. Ron, however, never saw past how things were before the war. Perhaps that was his coping mechanisms, just ignoring the war ever existed. "We do what we do to get by."

"So there is nothing I have to worry about?"

If he knew the truth, he would probably be beside himself. "No, you worry about yourself and what you have to do to get yourself in order. You need to recover too."

Harry smiled and looked uncomfortable.

"I'll see you back at school," she said as she stepped back onto the street and pulled on her knitted beanie. "Try to relax, Harry."

It felt good walking away, freeing in a sense and she was embarrassed she felt that way.

-0-

Traveling by port key was never comfortable and there was always a risk for a hard landing. Hermione would never get used to it, but neither was she willing to navigate Heathrow the day after Christmas. That had to be a unique version of hell.

It was sunny when she arrived. Not warm like in summer, but nice. A cool breeze, but nice sun. She arrived on a patio of stone, overlooking a barren hillside and the blue, hazy sea beyond. Olive trees surrounded her with their grey, green skinny leaves. It was absolutely gorgeous. The house and the patio was the same sand color at the hillside, recessed under roof to keep the sun from the house in summer.

It looked deserted and she would kill Malfoy if he wasn't here. No, actually, she would quite gladly take this vacation without him. It was a nice place.

Walking to the door, she tried the handle and it gave. The floor inside was terracotta, with white stucco walls. "Hello?"

"About time you made it," Draco said, emerging from one of the rooms off the main living area. He came straight toward her, wearing black as usual, but not a suit. Linen it looked like.

Claiming her lips, he drew her to him. So tall compared to her, and her legs seemed to slip so easily around him as if they fit perfectly together. The warm of him seeped into her, his lips, his body. It was familiarity and relief. It hadn't occurred to her how much she'd missed this until she had it back again.

"How was Christmas?" she asked.

"Hell. You?"

"Food, presents, alcohol. The usual."

"That's nice. Did you get me anything?" he asked.

"No. Why did you get me something?"

"Yes."

The answer surprised her. "I didn't realize we were doing the presents thing."

"Guess you'll have to make up for it," he said, walking her toward what she learned was the bedroom. Clearly he'd missed her. Maybe he was just using her for sex, or they were using each other. Any deliberations about using had to wait, because right now, this felt urgent, and necessary, as the kiss deepened.

A/N Some of you have noticed that I am posting less often. Yes. I've had to take on some full-time work for a bit, so I have less time to write.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

It felt like he had his breath back as he kissed her. He hadn't known where she'd been, or if she was coming. And he hadn't known how he would feel if she hadn't come. What he did know was that bliss was drugging his mind and he needed more.

This could potentially be a bad thing. It could be that thing that finally breaks him and he shouldn't allow that, but her lips were so sweet, her warmth seeping into him. Would she be horrified to know how much he wanted this, how much he thought about it?

Cold was still steeped into her jacket and his hands snuck underneath and along her warm body, finding her smooth skin. Urging it off, he sat down on he bed with her straddling him, her breath teasing the skin along his face.

"Did you miss me?" she asked.

"Yes," he admitted. It was the truth and it was an admission. It may not do him good to admit to her the power she had over him, but on the other hand, he couldn't bring himself to lie anymore.

Closing his eyes, he simple felt as she kissed his neck, his head leaning to the side to give her access. Something about this was too sharp and too deep, but there was no going back. He needed this and he would pay any price for it.

Pulling her down, he drew her underneath him. How was this so simple? How was it she simply gave him what he wanted? Was there anything more perfect than having her like this, cradled against her body, desire so strong it hurt?

Her lips were so beautiful, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy. She wanted him. She might not like it, but that didn't change the fact that she did.

Pulling back, he drew her shirt over her head, leaving her bare, then his own. Her jeans were more problematic, but they simply had to come off, along with her smalls. And those rather unattractive boots. And then he had her exactly as he wanted. No barriers, just skin.

Returning to how he'd been, he felt all of her along him, around him. The soft press of her breasts to his chest, the panes of her stomach to his, her bare thighs around him. She reached for his lips and the kiss stole his mind.

All the questions seeped away, replaced by sensation—but still the ache for her. Even here, like this, he still ached for her. Working his pants down, he freed himself and now there was nothing between them.

A slow gasp escaped her as he pressed into her, almost surprise in her eyes. Her eyes swam with sensation, but he didn't want her to drift away. He wanted her there with him, facing this assault. He held her there with his eyes, her lips parting softly as her legs snakes around his, drawing him deeper into her as if trapping him.

She wanted more, but he wanted her, so he stilled until he had her attention. Rolling his hips, she gasped again, but didn't look away. It pleased him, but he didn't know why. Didn't care why. Rolling his hips again, he could see the pleasure she felt through her eyes, see the impact as her gaze wavered.

He kissed her and in doing so, lost the connection with her, wretched away by the assault on his senses, sinking into her as deep as he could. It took over, stole all control away. Control, which had been so very important, and now it just fleeted away. But he was rewarded so richly for it. Something in the back of his mind protested, saying he needed to keep control, always, but the sensations were too strong, too compelling.

Her grip on him tightened and her moans grew frantic. It was too much to bear and his release surged through him, flowing from him to her. Bone deep pleasure surging through his whole body. There was absolutely no control in this—he was caught by it and it took him wherever it wanted, out of his body, out of his mind, spilling deep inside her

He was dead weight on her as he regained his wherewithal, the softness of her body taking his weight. Her breath rushed in his ear, and he hoped like hell he wasn't drooling. The crook of her neck, so soft and warm, the scent of her. He felt her pulse on his cheek and he needed to taste her skin again, so ran his lips along her shoulder, his oversensitized body shuddering with the piercing sensation as he moved.

Could he stay here forever and never move?

Hermione's eyes were closed and her arm around his neck, rested over her eyes. Did this undo her as completely as it did him? Did she regret it? Pulling away, he rolled off her, his breath still battling to calm.

Now what? What should they do? Say? She was here and he didn't quite know what to do with her. Should he hold her? Did they do that? Normally, there was the stark awkwardness between them after they'd fucked and he didn't want it.

Reaching over, he kissed her again. Not urgently and need-filled like before, but languid as if there was no rush in the world, nothing at all to think about, because stopped him from thinking. His lips teased hers, the taste and scent of her suffusing his mind. Playful and light.

She bit her lips as he pulled away again. "Now what?" she asked as if reading his mind.

"What do you want to do?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, lets do nothing." And it would be probably a good five minutes before he'd want to fuck her again. So they could do nothing—for five minutes.

"Why do you have this place?" she asked after a moment.

"Inherited from my mother's side of the family. A great uncle built it, I think. To spend the coldest winter months here. Couldn't tolerate the damp."

"Oh," she said and that awkwardness threatened, because what did they really have to talk about? If they weren't fighting, or fucking, what were they supposed to do?

"There's quite a nice town nearby. A market if you need anything." She'd come with nothing more than a backpack.

"I don't need anything. Did you come here as a child?"

"No, I think everyone has forgotten about this place."

"How many houses do you have, exactly?"

"Well, there's a house in France. My mother is a bit of a Francophile."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed it."

"My father prefers the palazzo in Venice."

"That I can imagine. Although I struggle to conceive of either of your parents on vacation."

"Only the scenery changes, really. Some of the people. There is a crowd that extends across Europe."

"I can imagine," she said tartly. "How did they take the war?"

"They stayed as far away from it as they could. Largely pretended it wasn't happening, and hoped like hell no one came seeking refuge in case it attracted unwanted attention. Can't blame them."

"No one wants a psycho coming for dinner."

In simple terms that was correct. Anyone with any brains stayed as far away from Voldemort as they could, and Draco knew full well how amusing it was having Voldemort over for supper. No, anyone who could simply stayed away and waited out the storm. "Why didn't you skip town? You could have. You had the means to hide in the muggle world and no one would have found you. Just slipped into the crowd."

"And leave Harry on his own to face that?"

Crabbe returned to Draco's mind. There hadn't been a way of saving him, but Potter would probably have tried, would have died to save one of his friends. Still, Draco wasn't sure he would stick around the way Hermione had if Crabbe was the one going up against Voldemort. He knew without a doubt that Crabbe wouldn't have stuck around.

"Potter could have disappeared too."

"It's not in his nature."

"A nature that Dumbledore honed."

"Don't say that," she said.

"It's true. He raised Potter to be his soldier."

Her silence told him that something in her agreed with him. "I don't want to talk about it," she said and looked away.

The past would forever be between them, Draco realized. While he had never been strong enough to fight Voldemort, Potter had—she had. An insane gamble on Dumbledore's part, but one that had paid off. Where would they be without it? Well, he'd be dead. That was the only thing he was sure of. Voldemort would have had him killed at some point, probably his parents too. In the end, everyone died around Voldemort. It was in his nature to turn on people. Like it was in Potter's nature to stand against stupid odds, and Hermione's nature to stand firm.

"I hate everything about the past," he admitted. "Some days, I think a complete Obliviate charm sounds like a grand idea, like the one Lockhart zapped himself with. He might be a blithering idiot, but he seems quite happy that way."

Hemione's head turned to him, but he didn't like her attention on him just at that moment. Maybe he was admitting a little too much. "Our memories make us who we are," she said.

Strictly, he wasn't sure that was true. Lockhart was very much the same, even as he didn't remember his own name.

"We are who we are," she finally said.

"And we're fucking. That's how far we've come."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. Everyone else does." Turning to his side, he faced her. "I have no fucking idea what I am doing. I just…" he started, but had no words to finish. "This makes no sense whatsoever, but on the other hand, it's the only thing that makes any sense. And maybe I am… worried that it's the only thing that is keeping my brains… intact."

Okay, this really was admitting way too much. She stared at him unblinkingly. "That's…" she started, but didn't finish.

What? Unfair? Insane? Delusional? It was perhaps grossly unfair putting that on her. Or maybe it was right that he inform her what this meant. Maybe if she couldn't deal with it, it was best she know now before they got even deeper into this quagmire. It could well be that she got up in two seconds and walked out the door. Couldn't blame her if she did.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Morocco in winter had a chill, but sitting in the sun, soaking up the rays was probably one of the best things ever. With her eyes closed, Hermione warmed, while Draco turned the pages of whatever book he was reading. Her legs rested on his thighs as they sat on the patio sofa.

When she opened her eyes again, the ship that was moving past had traveled quite a long way. It was all they saw from the house, ships slowly gliding past in the hazy blue distance.

They didn't speak much, just sat, ate or did the other stuff they did—of which they did a lot. His body had become as familiar to her as her own. It felt natural when he touched her, and it should freak her out like nothing else, but she just couldn't feel it. On another level, she was just so happy she didn't feel bad. It should, she should feel terrible about this, but the truth was that being here, with him, was one of the only places lately where she didn't feel bad. And how marvellous was that?

Draco turning a page again had her looking over at him. He was so very beautiful, lost in concentration in his book. She didn't care what book it was, but it obviously absorbed him.

"Do you want to go to that souk-thing later?" he asked, looking over at her, and that thrill she felt whenever he did.

"Okay," she said and closed her eyes again. Granted, right now, she didn't want to move, she just wanted to sit there. But it was nice walking around the market, a chance to be outside her own head for a while, with all the scents and sounds, the bright colors. It was an assault on the senses. And they needed food. "Maybe we'll eat first. I'm hungry."

"Alright."

Hermione did the cooking, because Draco was frankly useless at it. Getting up, she walked into the kitchen and salted a pot of water and put it on the boil. They were out of bread and meat, so it was pasta, tomatoes and capers.

Eating turned Draco on. He connected with the sensuality of it. And his desire turned her on and they just burned in it until they exhausted themselves.

Already she missed him and he was only mere yards away on the patio. Obviously she knew there was danger here, but she just needed this so much, needed the calm and the pleasure and the lack of badness. As did he. They were here because they needed each other and they could give each other what they needed. Who would have thought?

That was the problem. No one thought so. And this worked because no one was getting in their business. All those people who felt this was the height on unnatural. Her friends would balk and she could imagine the looks they would give her if they found out. Which wasn't as bad as his parents disowning him—that was how sternly they objected to this union.

This thing between them suited no one, including them, if it wasn't for that fact that they gave each other peace. And really good orgasms.

-0-

As per normal, they went to a muggle marketplace, because they didn't want to risk being seen by the magical world. It would be a toss up which of them was more recognizable. Draco, a famous Death Eater, whose trial was followed everywhere, who in the end had been released to the great disappointment of many, or her, Harry Potter's best friend and fellow war hero. Public places just weren't a good thing, and neither of them wanted the world at large to crash in on what they had here.

Draco had this neat trick of sending ahead a bit of smoke before they apparated so if completely covered them if someone saw them apparate in. They just walked out of plume of smoke, which had appeared and then dissipated. It was clever. Why hadn't she thought of it?

Draco knew a lot more of the muggle world than she'd expected, mostly because he'd been hunting people hiding in the muggle world. They didn't talk about it.

"Come," he said, taking her hand when they stepped out of the back alley they had apparated into. Like celebrities, they always had to arrive in the nastiest, scuzziest parts to avoid detection. And around these parts of the world, they might still violently in the presence of witches.

The smell of spices hit first, tickling her nose as they entered the bazaar. They had everything in there, the old type of things, the spices, the brass, the lanterns and rugs, but also stores with cheap plastic from China.

Truthfully, there wasn't much she wanted. Things had lost value for her. Maybe because she'd had to leave them all behind so many times and hadn't missed them at all. Peace you missed. Quiet. And she had found that again with the least likely person.

"I think we need a rug," Draco said.

"What for?"

"In floor gets really cold under the dining table."

Alright, it did. "Okay, let's get a rug."

They walked further into the bazaar, taking their time and looking at all the things. Hermione loved how most of the bazaar had been exactly the same for hundreds of years. There was something very comforting about it, that things persisted the travesties of the world, when at times it felt as if the world couldn't help but tear itself apart.

It also felt comforting Draco holding her hand. Exactly why, she didn't know. It was almost as if she could hand over the vigilance to him just for a little while. He had her back.

"Oh, so sweet," a merchant said, sitting on a stool. "Young people in love."

The statement was jarring to Hermione's ears and she faltered. "We're not…" she started, looking at Draco to see how he was reacting.

"We should all have such luck," the merchant continued. "I have pashminas for you."

"Rug, remember?" Draco said and gave a curt smile to the merchant before tugging on her hand. Hermione was still grappling with the statement.

"That man thinks we're in love," she said, still a little astounded.

"Well, we're something," Draco finally said.

"What? You think we're in love?"

"How the fuck should I know?"

"I just can't get over the fact that you think we might be love."

"I don't know. We fuck like rabbits and want to spend time together. What would you call it?"

"Not love."

"Okay, let's call it not love. Can we get a rug now?"

"Fine, we'll get a stupid rug," she said, slipping her fingers out of his hand. Them holding hands seemed strange and awkward now. As was buying a rug for the house they shared.

"Then do you want a coffee?"

"No, they're too strong. Maybe a tea," she said with uncertainty. Something felt shattered, a fallacy. She stayed feeling overwhelmed and astounded as Draco picked out a rug, red with an intricate pattern woven into it. She simply nodded when he suggested it. It folded up into a rather large and heavy parcel, which Draco subtly took his wand to. "I need some groceries. I'll meet you at the café by the square."

"Alright," Draco said and carried the rug with him as Hermione wandered to the food section, where she bought meat, cheese, bread and butter, before meeting Draco at the café. He'd already ordered the tea, which sat in a brass pot.

"Where's the rug?"

"I sent it ahead," he said as she sat down heavily. The sun was a little stronger now.

"Does it not bother you that people think we're in love?" she asked.

Taking a square of honeyed nut pastries, he popped it in his mouth. "It seems to bother you inordinately."

"We're not in love. Lust maybe, but lust is not feelings."

"Yes it is."

This was what she'd feared would happen, that things would get stupidly complicated. And it would all be okay if he was just as cognizant of that as her, but he seemed to be concerningly accepting of all this. "So we're clear. We can't be together."

"I know that," he said.

"Good."

"Although technically we are. And right now we are in every sense of the word, including strangers on the street thinking we're newlyweds."

"Why would you say newlyweds?"

He lifted his hand up. "Because we both have rings saying we are."

Damn, she'd forgotten about the rings. She'd worn it so long now, she's plain forgotten it was there. "This is getting messy," Hermione said, eyeing the tea in front of her as if it was the cause of all this mess. "We can't be together. Your parents would disown you. And believe me, I doubt you could hack a day in poverty. Luckily they're too watched to actually kill me, but I wouldn't put it past him to pay someone to knock me off."

"Too scandalous. Father is all about not drawing attention for the wrong reason, and that would include his son's mudblood war hero wife getting suspiciously topped off. I think you are safe. Frankly, I think I would be more in danger with Potter conclude that I've imperio'd you and would literally cut my guts out."

"There is a good chance," she would have to admit. "Ron would probably be worse."

"Well, that's lovely to know, so I take great comfort in the fact that he's utterly incompetent."

"Don't underestimate him," Hermione warned. "He doesn't see reason when he's angry. My point is, there is no future here. We are not going in the same direction." She certainly didn't picture him anywhere near her future.

"I know that," he said, taking a sip of his tea. Nothing could be discerned from his expression. Why was he so hard to read?

"Okay," Hermione said, finally taking a sip of her own tea. It felt as though something had been established. Re-established. She just didn't know anymore. Maybe she was having a freak out over nothing. Or maybe she was having a freak out over how comfortable this all felt. Or the fact that they were going to have to walk away from it in the end.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Tension rose up Draco's back again as he stepped onto Hogwarths grounds. The return of an all too familiar feeling, and he felt it more keenly now as he'd been without for a short while.

They'd been apart for a couple of days and he'd had to return home. After their time in Morocco, it had felt empty. Cool and elegant, but no warmth. That was perhaps unfair. His parents were happy he was there, and he felt guilty because he'd rather be elsewhere. His parents seemed to depend on him more now than they ever had, as if he tied them together, he was the glue that kept the family together, made it all worth fighting for.

During the train ride, he sat in his own carriage, and he was quite happy with it that way. In truth, he wasn't sure he could handle students and their inconsequential problems right now.

There wasn't much he really wanted from Hogwarts, but it was a place where they could exist right now, a hidden cocoon. Not as freely as in Morocco, but shut away within their apartment, they could exist quite nicely together.

It had to be said that he was stronger than he'd been walking into Hogwarts at the beginning of the year. There were things in his sphere other than the past. And he was quite content with how things were. A tentative equilibrium having been found.

Hermione was walking ahead with her friends. They hadn't spoken, hadn't made eye contact. And so they would continue. No one could know what went on inside their apartment, and outside it… they would go to classes, they would pretend they meant nothing to each other and they carry on this pretence.

There was something a little delightful in having a secret, in knowing that the true picture was so entirely different from how things were perceived, and truth belonged to them exclusively.

Immediately, he made his way to the apartment, walking past all the chatting students, regaling their friends about what they'd done over Christmas, the trips they'd had, the activities to brag about, the things they'd received as gifts. That had been him, eager to tell, to show off, but that wasn't him anymore. There were more precious things, and his tales were not for the telling, and on the whole there wasn't much to tell. They'd done nothing. They'd just been there and it had been perfect. No questions, not interference, just been.

"How were your last couple of days?" Hermione asked as she entered the apartment, walking toward him and kissing him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, continuing to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

His fingers itched to touch her, but she was busying herself with a cup of tea, and he did appreciate the truly mundane things about their relationship, like cups of tea. "They were… dull. There's a letter."

"What letter?" she asked.

"Looks like another challenge."

"Ugh, I thought we were done with those."

Moving over to the counter, he grabbed the stiff envelope and cracked the seal. Not surprising, it was another challenge.

"What do we have to do this time?" she asked, picking up her tea mug and taking a sip.

"As always, they are clear a mud, but it looks like individual challenges rather than together."

What could they possibly do individually? At least it wasn't more admissions of his feelings, because he didn't like having to voice them. It was embarrassing to admit how empty he felt when he wasn't with her, and , to some degree, existed in her presence. Somewhere inside him, he knew that it wasn't good how meaningful she had become to him. But frankly, he was beyond being independent and isolated. It wasn't something he could go back to. It might not be what he wished, but it was true nonetheless. And right now, he seemed to have exactly what he needed.

"When?" she said with a sigh.

"Tomorrow."

"Potter is having a little get together tonight," Hermione said carefully.

"Oh?" Draco said. There was something awkward and unspoken here. "Then you have to go. It would look strange if you forwent your friends to spend the evening with me." Her expression made her look torn and she bit her lip for a moment.

"I could say I am tired."

It wasn't as if it wasn't nice to hear that she'd rather spend the evening with him, but they had to be careful. His parents were still working furiously on having this marriage annulled, and if they had an idea about the true state of it, his father would throw everything he had at it. "You should go," he said. "Make sure to rip me to pieces while you're there."

"Yeah?" she said with a smile. "What should I say?"

"Good question," he said, walking over to the sofa and lying down with his wrist behind his head. "Obviously, I make you uncomfortable, goosebumps along your skin."

"So you make my skin crawl," she said with a broader smile.

"I suppose you could tell them there are times I make you scream in frustration. I do recall some points where that's happened. More of a whimper, but you don't have to go into specifics."

Her eyes were glossy with mischief and he was certain this was how he liked her the most. It turned him on.

"Sometimes you say the most vile things to me," she said with large, blinking eyes.

"Truly depraved things."

"And threats. The things you threaten to do to me. People would be shocked."

"Well, don't get too carried away. When it comes to me, Potter has a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Well, stop looking at me like that. We don't have the time for you to carrying out your nefarious threats right now," she said checking her watch, "but perhaps I won't stay all that long. I am tired, after all."

"While you're gone, I will think up new levels of depravity." Sometimes a little anticipation didn't hurt. The slow burn while he waited for her to return.

-0-

The challenge started shortly after breakfast and today they weren't wandering into the forest to wallow in muck. Instead they stood lined up waiting to be invited into a room Draco had never been into before. Hermione stood behind him with some of the Gryffindors, while the people around him gave him plenty of space.

Then it was his turn, he sighed before he walked in. Why exactly were they doing these individually? It was more fun if he could tease Granger. What was about to be revealed to them? Hopefully nothing that would destroy things—revelations that would ruin everything. It was a risk he couldn't even contemplate thinking about.

The room was utterly white as he walked in, the door disappearing as it closed. A wooden podium stood ahead, obviously intended to draw him to it. Grudgingly he did.

 _Imagine_ , it said. That the hell was that supposed to mean? Imagine what?

For a while he stared at the whiteness around him. Nothing. It was like a whiteout. His temper was starting to get to him. A bit of direction would be helpful, or was he supposed to stand here until the door opened again?

Impatience sizzled inside him. This was stupid. Imagine what?

Then he saw a picture of himself, older. It started with his face, his body, then the scene unfolded. It was at home, the sumptuous dining room at Malfoy Manor. A fire roared in the grate and there was no one around. He looked unhappy, stark.

Was this what he was supposed to see? Himself?

There was nothing else to the image. The imaginary him shifted. The fire flared and crackled, the sound completely realistic. It was as if he stood in his dining room, staring at himself.

What did this mean? This was the future?

Apparently this was it, because nothing changed. What was he supposed to imagine?

So he thought of Hermione, and the picture shifted dramatically. A house, a simple, plain cottage. Wooden floorboards and a large table in a kitchen. So this is where she lived. He saw her by the kitchen bench, her hair long. She looked older, but beautiful.

Was this the future, or did he imagine this? No it had to be imagined. Prophesy on this scale would be impossible to create. This was how he saw Hermione's future. And then an imaginary him walked in the door, looking quite different from how he'd seen himself in the Malfoy Manor dining room. Dressed more informally, his hair longer and more messy. Walking over, he kissed her. She smiled at him, and there wasn't a hint of doubt in her. They belonged together, but they lived humbly.

Oh, now he understood. This was how his life would be with her and without her. Have what he had, what he was born into, but not with her. For her, he had to give that all up.

"I know all this," he said.

The imaginary him sat down at the table, which was old and scuffed. It really was poverty, a small cottage with old, worn furniture. Hermione came over and stroked her hand through his hair and the imaginary him closed his eyes and just soaked in her touch. They looked so comfortable together.

A cry sounded behind them.

"Someone's awake," Hermione said. "He must have sensed your return."

Hermione walked toward him and then through him as she headed to the staircase leading up. Draco stared after her. There was a child up there, a baby. This was a family.

On some level, he hadn't anticipated that. Obviously, he'd always known there would be a wife and an heir in his future—it was required, but this was something completely different. This was him turning his back on his Malfoy identity and embracing another—an identity where he truly was Hermione Granger's husband.

"I know all this," he said again, more quietly. Yes, he'd known it, but now he was seeing it, which made it hit home. So why was he seeing this? Was this what he wanted? Or was this just showing him the trade off? He didn't know. Hermione was meaningful to him, there was no denying it, but so far, he had only thought about the here and now, and they had both agreed to keep it hidden so neither of them would have think beyond what they had found between them.

Unfortunately this challenge was pushing the issue and he now had images to go with it. A life with Hermione, a true marriage to Hermione would involve heavy sacrifices.

"I know this," he said sharply. Was it possible to hate these challenges more?


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Hermione saw Draco go into the room, but she didn't see him come out. The next person in line went in. It only made her more nervous. These stupid challenges weren't simply a fest for insults anymore, things had changed and there were things she didn't want to delve into.

But the line inched closer and closer, and she had no choice but to go in when it was her turn. A white room, which meant she was about to see memories or something similar. It had to be stripping things out of their heads, just like it had that image of her and Draco kissing on the sofa that first time. What was she going to see now? More proof of their intimacy, which was happening fairly regularly. Constantly, in fact.

A wooden podium stood in the middle and she grudgingly walked over. _Imagine_ , it said.

For a moment she stared at it. Imagine what? Could she walk out of here and no one would know that she failed to activate whatever this challenge was? No they would know and then there would be attention, and that was the last thing she wanted right now.

With a sigh, she stared at the white space. Fine, she thought, let's get this over with.

After a while, an image started to form. It was her, standing in a pencil skirt and blouse, her hair tied up. She wore gold earrings and she'd never seen herself like this. The rest of the image started developing. An apartment, a nice one. Glass windows from floor to ceiling, nice furniture. It wasn't a place she knew.

Her face was different. She was older. Work clothes, these were business clothes. The image of her started moving, going to the kitchen to pouring herself a glass of wine.

Imagine, the note of the podium had said. This had to be an imagined version of her, at some point in the future.

That wasn't London outside the window, she noted and moved closer. This was New York. It was grey and drizzly outside, but she saw an American flag on some ad on the side of one of the buildings.

Why was she imagining herself in New York? And this was utterly a muggle apartment. There was no magic here. Then again, she had considered going into the muggle world once she left Hogwarts, at least for a while. Career-wise, the options were limited in the wizard world. The Ministry, medicine or Gringotts. The Ministry had always been her intention before the war, but she'd been so deeply disappointed with it, and the people who ran it, that she now couldn't imagine spending her whole career there.

So what would she do in New York? Work for the UN perhaps? Maybe international law. The idea of it appealed to her. Yes, that was what she was seeing.

The imaginary her took her glass of wine and walked over to the desk, turning on the laptop. The sun was setting outside the window, so this was the end of the day.

Was she alone here? Did she foresee her future as single? No. But it wouldn't be Draco. It couldn't be Draco. This picture didn't suit him at all. Not to mention the fact that they didn't belong together. That was sheer fact.

A man walked into the door. A man in his thirties with a nice face and brown hair. A professional by the look of his suit.

"Hey," he said. American. He walked over and kissed her. "You want to go to dinner tonight? Or we can order in."

"Uhmm," the imaginary Hermione said, smiling as she put her arms around his neck. "We can go out. Maybe down to Berlucci's?"

"Italian. You're trying to seduce me. I heard back about the Wilson brief." Moving away from her, he continued talking about something that seemed important to him, something he'd been working on. By the look of it, the imaginary Hermione knew exactly what he was talking about. Was interested in what he had to say.

It was strange watching herself being so close to this man she had never met. But that was how she imagined her future. She would meet someone—someone smart, someone professional. And together they would suit each other, intellectual equals. They loved and supported each other. And he was American. Someone she had met here.

So why New York? The answer came to her as soon as she asked the question. Because she'd want to put distance between herself and Draco.

As soon as he came into her mind, the picture started changing. The more familiar sights of a magical house started to form. Her business attire started to disappear, being replaced by magical robes.

"No!" she said harshly and the image faded to white. No, that was not something she wished to see. It wasn't an image she wanted to carry with her.

A door opened in the whiteness and she walked toward it, emerging into the hallway leading to the astronomy tower. No one was around and she crossed her arms as she walked toward her apartment. Draco would probably be there, and she didn't really want to face him right now, but she didn't want to be anywhere else either. Certainly not talk about her imagined future with her friends. Something about it all felt fraught and broken. Also, they would try to dissuade her from even thinking that building her life in muggle New York. No, she couldn't leave, they would say.

They still wanted the old Hermione back. She just wasn't there.

Why did classes have to be cancelled when they had these stupid challenges? Staring at the wall for a few hours in class sounded like a good option right now.

As expected, Draco was there when she got home. He stood by the sink, wearing his typical black suit. Unfortunately when she looked at him these days, she saw that suit coming off more often than not. Their relationship was based entirely on intimacy now.

He turned to her. "What did you see?"

"Myself in New York," she replied.

"New York?" he said with raised eyebrows. "Magical New York?"

"No. Muggle New York."

He was silent for a moment, leaning on the kitchen bench. "And what else did you see?"

"I didn't."

"I think the point of the challenge was to see options."

"The point of the challenge was to imagine the future and I did. I'm in New York, an international lawyer or something, married to an American."

"And that is all you saw?" he said. There was anger in his voice and she didn't entirely know where it was coming from.

"Yes," she replied, unable to look him in the eyes. Why did this feel so awful?

"It's just interesting to note that an alternative isn't even something that would crop into your mind."

"Why would it?"

"Because that was the point!" he said sharply. "The point of it was to imagine ourselves without each other and then with each other."

She still couldn't meet his eyes, and they felt as if they were piercing her. Them together wasn't something she wanted to see. An awkward silence descended between them.

"So that's it? You're just going to fuck off and that the only thing you'll consider?"

Taking herself off to New York seemed a very sensible option right now. The only option she could consider, getting far away from here—from him. "As opposed to what, Draco? Seeing us together? What good is that going to do? What do you want from me?"

The silence was deafening. "Nothing," he said and pushed past her, leaving the apartment. With a sense of heaviness, she walked to the sofa and sat down. Draco was angry. That much was clear. Clearly took it as an insult.

And he had clearly seen a future with them together. So why was he now getting on her wick about her not seeing it? Why, was that something he wanted? Or did he just want to tear apart the version she had seen?

Because what would she see? Her in love with him? Them uniformly being the most unpopular couple in history? Him disowned, the magical world in general seeing her as a traitor. Technically, none of those things were all that devastating to her. It was more that they would be bitter and resentful toward each other for the things they had lost. Draco his fortune and family, her, her lovely life in New York, where she was making a difference in the world, and no one resented her for the things they'd lost or for not living up to their expectations of her.

This would all be so much easier to walk away from if she didn't have a clear image of what it was she was not choosing. Why couldn't he see that? Which made her ask if the image he had seen of them together was something he could easily leave behind. Was it a fate he would be glad to escape? Would he look back on it, while sitting in his large manor, with his beautiful pureblood wife, regaling how horrible the alternative would have been?

Another reason she couldn't now stay in the magical world, because her life in the wizard world would be the one he would in the future look on with distaste.

With a groan, she drew the pillow to her and tucked it under her head. How was it that her life was taking on a new level of awfulness? New York held none of that.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

The problem with storming off was that one needed somewhere to go, and Hogwarts just wasn't a place for him, so he ended up going to the prefect bathroom, and once there, he figured he might as well have a bath. For the first time that year, on in years probably, he wanted to go home. But then the future he imagined loomed in front of him too, rubbing like cut glass.

So it was a bit of a pickle he was in, he conceded as she waded into the warm water. And Granger was chicken, refusing to look at it. Or she was smart. Maybe they were better off not knowing they were headed down the path to misery. His childhood would have been infinitely worse if he'd known Voldemort would rise and ruin everything just about. He was grateful he hadn't known that had been coming.

But the problem was that he knew. The meek and easily controlled bride his parents would want was simply not going to make him happy. But neither would poverty. So what good was it even thinking about it? Damn, he hated when Granger was right. So she was happy to leave all this and marry some muggle American? That seemed a bit of a cop out, frankly.

So what was the alternatively? Them together, living off their wages? Hanging with Potter and Weasley? They might as well set up shack next to the Weasleys. The very idea was revolting. Their kids playing with scruffy, unkempt redheads?

Maybe they should compromise and fuck off to magical New York. Leave all of it behind—without giving up on who they actually were. Or they could move down to Morocco and live like hermits in that house on the hill. Except they'd have no income at all.

Or he could just stay single until his parents were so exasperated, they accept him marrying anyone. Granger wouldn't stick around for such a longwinded strategy.

The warmth of the water seeped into him and he sat there, increasingly growing tired and missing her. Why had they never come here together? Obviously, he wasn't angry enough to say no to sex. It would take more than downright rejection.

Leisurely, he got out and dried himself with his wand, and then dressed. This was a nice way to escape the flat for a while. He might storm off more often now that he had something to go. Supper was being served in the Great Hall, but he wasn't hungry. It had been too tumultuous a day.

As always, he watched when he left the safety of the bathroom. He still didn't trust the people here, and an ambush could happen at any time. Leaving the UK to escape the angry, bitter villagers with pitchforks might actually be a good idea.

Hermione sat on the sofa when he returned home, a cup of tea balanced on her knee. She didn't look at him. Was she feeling a little miffed about her own chickenness? "I'm going to bed," he stated and walked straight past into the bedroom.

Getting undressed again to get into bed and read one of the books he'd gotten out of the library. An hour or so later, Hermione appeared at the door. Was it terrible that he loved it when she was uncertain?

"Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?"

"Do you deserve to sleep on the sofa?"

The uncertainty was replaced by a chiding look. "I just don't want imagines in my head that I know can't be." She approached. "It's one thing us being right here, but thinking about things in a larger context just brings problems. Big problems."

Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her into bed and rolled her beneath him. "But I saw it. We were so poor, we couldn't even afford to keep an elf," he said with an exaggerated face. "I had to work."

"Oh, you poor thing," she said with a smile she couldn't fight. "That must have been so distressing."

"It was. I had to wear corduroys. Believe me, I just about gagged when I saw it." He hadn't gagged when he'd seen her, thought. It had been happiness on his face, that image of him walking in the door, coming home to his wife. Fuck, this was messed up. And there had been a baby, but he didn't mention that. In his gut, he knew she'd shut down if he did. "You, of course, were doing the dishes."

"Why do I have to do the dishes?"

"Good luck trying to get me to do dishes. I have my limits." Her fingers pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear and he loved it when she did those small things, small gestures. Leaning down, he kissed her. Warm, sweetness infusing his mind and body.

Within the kiss, the mood changed. There was urgency now, driven by the fact that they might lose this. How could he ever willingly walk away from this? Could she? Yes, because she would punish herself severely for her twisted sense of righteousness. But not now. Right now, they had this.

Leaning back, his hands snuck up under her skirt and pulled down the dark woollen tight that really shouldn't be as sexy as they were, revealing her white, creamy thighs. And he loved seeing that shine in her eyes, lust. It was something he didn't want anyone else to see. It was something that was his. Because she was his.

Drawing his pants down, he returned to her, pushing in in one smooth move. Her mouth formed a perfect 'o' and her thighs shook. Biting her lip, her eyes closed and she moaned. How could he ever give this up? He couldn't. "No one will ever do this for you," he said breathily, trying to stop the sensation from overwhelming him. He didn't want this to be over in an instance, because it really could.

"You're so arrogant."

He smiled. No, he was stating a fact. No one would ever make her feel like he did, because he wasn't going to let anyone near her. She was his. Come what may.

Firm stokes had her panting, her hands clutching his hips. They were just so perfect together. Harder strokes had him battling his release, which was coming on so strong, he was losing any control he had. "Fuck," he said, and reached for her lips as the storm came. A rush of sensation and emotion, leaving him utterly drained. Everything he was, he gave to her. Her release pulsed around him, sharply sensitive as his senses reformed and he lay like dead weight on her. Her arms enveloped him and he never wanted to leave this moment.

But moments never last. And their perfect unity could be just as fleeting. But she was the one holding back. She would punish both of them by denying them this.

Kissing her again, he pulled away from her, mainly because he still needed to breathe better. His body was on fire. Lying staring at the roof, he wondered what it was he'd just decided. Was he choosing the image of him and her, and the baby, in that ramshackle house? If they fucked like this every night, he probably wouldn't care where they lived.

But it didn't entirely matter if he was in, because she wasn't. Because she was still driven by sheer, unrelenting anger. Anger at the war, anger at how she'd been treated. How they all treated each other. She was rejecting the magical world. But not enough to cut and walk away without her licence to practice magic. She refused to let the magical world forbid her magic. He was a kink in her plans. Oh and he would be. He just wasn't sure how yet.

The enormity of it overpowered him for a moment and he felt a rush of anxiety, because he was about to give up all safety and invest everything in her, and he had no guarantee she would reciprocate. In fact, she was intent on not reciprocating. This literally was the biggest gamble of his life. This and a few moments when he'd had to deal with Voldemort, but that had been a short, sharp gamble with death. This was much bigger, the rest of his life.

Feeling suddenly restless, he got up and walked into the bathroom. The stone floor was cool under his feet, but his body was still burning hot. With his hands on the sink, he leaned his weight on it. Was he really ready to make this choice? It was one thing to do so in the heat of the moment, but what about in the cool, calm aftermath? Standing here, in the cold, could he accept a life without her?

No.

So now he needed to seduce his wife. One advantage in his favour was that she was already his wife, and she burned hot for him. This really shouldn't be that hard. Committed, tick, lust, tick, love—? How the fuck did you make someone love you?

His eyes roamed her things, looking for answers, including her toiletries bag, where inside, he saw a silvery package. For a moment, he stared at it, not really understanding what he was seeing, until he picked it up. It had small pills wrapped in the plastic muggles were so fond of, and silver. Huh, he thought as he turned it over in his fingers.

These tiny little pills where what she depended on to keep the future at bay. Wasn't that interesting? And to just leave it lying around, that was careless. Goosebumps rose along his body, because here was a means of pushing the issue. And he wanted to push the issue. In fact, the idea of removing all barriers between them was inordinately sexy. In that an extra edge to it, an edge that carried a deciding factor.

Carefully, he put the packet back where he'd found it. A part of him wanted to go get his wand right now and replace those white little pills with something infinitely less effective. The want itched along his fingers. But another part wanted her to relent—for her to choose him.

They had four months. Or he would push the issue. Three months technically. One month to ensure their future was sealed. Already images were forming inside his mind of her pregnant. Surprisingly, the though was soothing. And there would be some truly awkward questions coming from her friends then, and he would enjoying seeing her trying to answer.

Okay, maybe he'd give her two months to come around. Because really, there was zero chance he could not seduce Granger into choosing him.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

"Are you going to wear a shirt today?" Hermione asked as she sat on a stool by the small kitchen bar, watching Draco languishing on the sofa.

"Probably at some point. I don't know. Depends on what we're doing."

"Well, _I_ am going to do some work. And then there's a bit of a Gryffindor party happening tonight. I'm sure you'd love to come," she said sarcastically. Truthfully, she hadn't planned on going and had been thinking of excuses not to.

"That should be an orgy of debauchery," he said tartly.

No, orgy if any kind it would not be. It made her wonder what Slytherin parties were like. They'd always expected it to be them sitting around, espousing how superior they were.

"I'll buy you a dress," he said with a smile.

Images of the last time they'd gone dress shopping returned to her. Seduction was probably the best work to describe the theme for that day. Even now her cheeks colored. "Not the wear-a-dress kind of party."

"Then what should one wear?"

Why was he asking? "Whatever one wants. Why, are you going?"

"Am I specifically not invited?"

Partners had never not been invited to a Gryffindor party. They didn't not invite people. "Guest lists are more fluid with Gryffindors."

"Problem solved, then."

For a moment, she was stumped. Was Draco coming to a Gryffindor party? Why? What was going on in that head of his?

Now she was leaning more toward definitely not going, but she was also curious. That curiosity always got her. Why the hell would Draco want to go to a Gryffindor party? Knowing him, there was always a reason, particularly if he would tolerate hanging with people he despised.

And of course he wouldn't come out and say it. The only way to know would be to see him in action. "Alright fine, we'll go. But I warn you. It will be full of Gryffindors being happy. You'll find it utterly nauseating."

"Probably."

And really, could he put a shirt on? Him languishing on the sofa was too distracting. Pale skin, just inviting touch. Already she felt the call of it, and if she didn't take care, they would spend the day in bed. She wouldn't get any work done, and she would probably turn up at the party looking… tussled.

Jumping off the stool, she grabbed her school bag. "I need to write," she said and left. Stay and she would get nothing done. Them getting naked just happened much to easily now. Like an avalanche that any old pebble would set off. Anything they did seemed to end them up in bed. They certainly couldn't have a decent fight anymore.

The school was quiet as she wandered, looking for a quiet space to work. It was cold and rainy, and the students were shut away in the common rooms. Finding a bench in a corner, she refused to think about being warm and snug, and got on with the essay she had to write.

The essays she wrote now were different from the ones she used to write. Truthfully she was coasting on knowledge she'd already built, but there was also a more critical tone. No longer did she conform with the accepted practices and beliefs. She didn't trust them anymore. And the Hogwarts' curriculum was too standardized. It adhered to the accepted practices without deviation. Mostly she spent the essay pointing out deviations, as if making the point that magical beliefs were full of holes, because they were full of holes, convenient sidelining uncomfortable truths.

Although she didn't know what she expected from these. Perhaps she just wanted someone to say, yes, you're right and we're full of it. Not that they ever did. The teachers gave her good marks, often calling her essays well researched. And that was it, all she got. But she didn't want compliments on her research abilities. Maybe it would be nice for someone to say: sorry your belief in us has been entirely shattered. But it never happened.

Writing essays just made her angry. And maybe if she wanted to admit it, which she didn't, they made her sad too. You mourned people, not beliefs.

Tired and grumpy was how she felt when she walked back into their little flat. Draco was reading a book, still on the sofa, looking warm and cozy. Twisting his neck, he looked up at her. "Been battling your inner demons?"

"Fuck off," she mumbled. "And seriously, put a shirt on."

"Why? Nothing you haven't seen before."

"Ugh," she complained.

"Come here."

"No."

"Come on," he said, tugging on her arm, drawing her off balance and across the back of the sofa.

"Stop. I am not in the mood," she said as she readied to climb out of the sofa again.

"I can tell. Did you know that cinnamon was fat soluble?"

"Yes, because I have baked things."

"What? What do you bake?"

"Not now. When I was younger. My mom was, is, a bit of a baker."

"Sleep."

"What?"

"Sleep. You'll feel better."

"No," she said, but she had to admit that the lulling warmth she had refused to think about was enveloping her. And the smell of his skin. Somehow it had snuck in there as one of the things she absolutely loved. "Anything with heat tends to be fat soluble. Nature's way of keeping it active, I suspect."

Draco's attention returned to the book and he didn't move, and time just slipped by as he lay there with his arm around her. For a while, she refused to relax, but it was just so nice. Bit by bit, she relaxed, her body melding to his.

"This is not what we do," she said.

"We do this every night." For two seconds after some monumental physical exertion. They didn't just cuddle. "Sleep."

"No."

But he didn't let go and she didn't have the energy to fight, and unable to help it, her eyelids grew heavy.

"Come on. Party time."

The words were jarring in her ear and she startled awake. It was dark. Draco moved, pulled away from her and took his warmth with him. "Uhmm," she said, trying to get her mind working. Party. The stupid party. And Draco wanted to go.

Still unstable, she got up and walked to the kitchen. She still felt the ghost of his body to hers. That hadn't been some gentle nap, she'd been out. Draco returned wearing his typical black suit. "Are you going like that?"

Hermione looked down at her jeans. "Yes." Until then, she hadn't given a thought to what she was wearing until now. "Like I said, no one is there for the outfits."

"Come on. We're already fashionably late."

How was it going to be received when she walked into a party with Draco? It wasn't as if she could turn around now and suggest he shouldn't come, after she'd said everyone was invited. "Alright," she finally said. And they walked out of the flat and toward Seamus and Katie's.

Draco gasped when he saw the flat. "Why is their flat bigger than ours?"

"Because they're expecting," she said quietly.

"You get a bigger flat if you're knocked up?"

"Yes. It's a family flat."

"Maybe we should do some reconsideration."

"Don't even joke about it."

"Hey," Parvati said and hugged her. "You brought Malfoy?" she whispered in her ear.

She didn't actually have a reason prepared, so she went with the truth. "He wanted to come."

"Malfoy," Parvati said in greeting. For a moment, it looked as though she was searching for something to say. "Right," she said when she couldn't find anything. "Enjoy the party."

"I will," he said and wandered off.

They both watched him go. "Are you sure he's not planning to murder us?"

The statement stumped Hermione for a moment. It seemed ridiculous, but from Parvati's perspective, her opinion of Malfoy hadn't shifted from last year. In all honesty, she was more nervous about him getting her pregnant for sake of a bigger flat.

"You brought your hubby," Harry said as he approached. Again she struggled for an explanation.

"Thought I would palm him off on you lot for a while." Harry was searching her eyes for truth. "I figured I would see how he'd act in public." Desperately she tried not to blush, because the truth was that they were fine back home. More than fine. Much more than cordial. And she would bet her left foot that Harry might suspect something like it. If only for the fact because she spent more time at home than anyone would expect.

"How are things?" Harry asked.

"Fine. We've addressed some of our differences."

"Enough that you are bringing him out with you."

"Yes, well. Social engagements are a little slim for him," she admitted.

"So you thought we would be his new friends?" Harry asked.

"No, but I hope we can all be cordial."

"You might have to point that out to Ron. He won't be too happy to see him here. Or Ginny."

"Actually, I think she might be fine with it," Hermione said, seeing Draco and Ginny talking across the room. Draco was all charm when he wanted something and he was doing it right now, on Ginny. Why?

Now Ginny actually laughed and Hermione felt a surge of jealousy, because they were originally paired. Still, she just couldn't imagine them together. Ginny and Harry belonged together. "How are things with you?" she asked Harry.

"Fine," Harry said tersely, watching them too.

Harry and Ginny were probably together properly. Harry had listened intently when she'd once mentioned her suspicions of muggle contraception. And really, anyone looking at Ginny would see she was too frail to start a family. Although apparently not too frail to flirt with Draco. How had he manage to get her from hating his guts to flirting in practically no time at all? What was he saying to her?

He looked over and caught her watching. A smile spread across his lips. One of those self-satisfied smiles he did when things went to plan for him. Some plan that apparently involved her friends. What was he up to? He'd better not be intent on messing things up here. She'd strangle him.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Draco's head ached slightly as he woke. It wasn't a full hangover, but he'd had a bit. The charm-the-Gryffindors offensive had been a roaring success if he said so himself. Not the guys, just the girls. But it was the girls that counted if he wanted to influence Hermione's opinion. It was always girls that talked about relationships.

And funnily, while the Gryffindors had more or less constituted the enemy during the war, they were more open to forgiving. The Slytherins were too worried about the pecking order. Besides, they weren't interested in forgiveness. They were interested in power and he didn't have any—not compared to what he'd used to have. No, their power was currently being used to rebuild the ministry after all damage.

Reaching out, he found cold space where Hermione slept, so she was up. Which was a shame, because right now, he really didn't want her to be up. Was she angry about something?

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!" he heard her yelling and he shot up out of bed, finding her with a letter in her hands rather than a horde of raiders like he'd expected.

"Can you not do that?" he demanded. And now he was cold, standing there in his boxers with adrenalin pumping through his body.

"We're doing home visits," she said, turning large eyes on him. "It's the next challenge. I have to spend three days with your parents. What is wrong with them?"

"My parents? That's an involved discussion for this time of the morning."

"The Ministry. Why would they do this?"

Draco didn't wait around for the rant. He was cold and he wasn't about to get laid, so he might as well dress. Maybe a shower would make things better, he thought as he headed to the bathroom.

The warm water soothed for a moment. Yes, Hermione and his parents could be an utter disaster. Could put a massive spanner in the impress Hermione game. Which brought the inevitable question of how he could use this to his best advantage. Every weakness could become a strength and visa versa. Even that his parents despised her and visa versa. Exactly how, he didn't know yet.

Feeling better, he got out. Dressing properly, he left the bedroom again.

"Your father's going to bury me in the garden," Hermione said, still outraged with this new challenge.

"No, he won't. He can't afford to. And I'm not sure he wants any more people buried in our garden." The spectre of dark days returned. Too many deaths, too many bodies hastily disposed off. In fact, he didn't want to go home, so he could fully understand why she wouldn't want to come. "And how do we visit your house, exactly? Didn't you say there were muggles living there?"

"Yes, it's rented out."

"We could bespell them to go on holiday somewhere," Draco suggested.

"I usually stay at Harry's."

"Like hell am I staying with Potter."

"Why? I have to spend time with your family."

"Then we can go to Australia and spend time with your obliviated parents. I am not spending endless days at Potter's house, pretending we hate each other."

"We do hate each other."

That was the barrier he could never crack. She refused to admit they didn't hate each other. "I don't hate you."

Hermione ignored the statement. "We can stay at a hotel."

"Diagon Alley."

"No, muggle hotel."

"What?" he said, feeling unease. "I don't mix well with muggles."

"Well, you are about to spend time in my world, so muggle all the way."

"There is no need to punish me. I didn't design this challenge."

"I have to spend time with your parents," she said in a tone so low it rumbled.

"Alright fine," he conceded. "When are we supposed to do this?"

"Tomorrow. How? I have study I need to do."

"Since when do you care about your studies?" Draco said, then realized how ridiculous the statement was. Hermione the Swot was still not back to being a swot. It showed that something was still off balance with her. Because being a know-it-all was her natural state.

"We're doing mine first," she stated and Draco saw no point in arguing.

"So you can tell me exactly what's so fantastica about the muggle world?"

"Yes," Hermione said and stood, pacing like she was nervous. Was it about the muggle world or Malfoy Manor? "What the world are we going to do in London for three days?" She spoke more to herself than to h, planning like she always did. If this kept up they would have a detailed itinerary before long.

"We could do nothing at all," he suggested. "I'm assuming even a muggle hotel room has a bed."

She wasn't listening. "I mean, we could go to the Tate. The theatre, do you like the theatre?"

"Not particularly."

"I know," she said, most excitedly. "We could see the Mousetrap. I think you'll like it."

"Sounds thrilling."

"Maybe you will find the muggle world more thrilling than you think."

Draco snorted. "And why would that be?"

"Because not a single soul will know who you are."

Granted, she did have a point there.

"There are all these things we could do. My three days are basically going to be awesome, and then we'll have yours which will be the exact opposite."

"Are you getting competitive about these home visits?" he asked, actually liking how excited she was getting.

"Oh, it's going to be muggle world versus wizard world. I think I know which side I am putting my money on. A big city where we can do what we want, versus hanging with the purebloods."

Alright, so that was her agenda. He had another one entirely. "Alright, you're on."

-0-

"That's your house?" Draco asked, looking up at a brick building. It was like a tiny box.

"It's Victorian. Believe me, for London, this is a nice house."

A terraced box in a string of boxes. It had two windows upstairs, and another next to the door.

"My parents did this conservatory extension into the back garden. It's quite nice. Shame we won't get to see it. Maybe not. I don't think I want to see another family living in there. In fact, this is quite depressing. Let's leave."

Draco could agree that is was depressing. It was even smaller than the cottage he had imagined for them.

"Come on, let's go," Hermione said and Draco was about to draw out his wand. "On the tube."

"What?"

"We're going on the tube. Muggle, remember."

"That worm thing that goes underground?"

"Yes, the worm thing. This way."

"Are you making this complete muggle submersion?"

"Yes, you can retire your wand for the next few days. You won't be needing it."

Draco was set to argue for a while, but remembered why he was there. "Fine. Lead the way."

He followed her down a street full of houses. It was a little different from the one Snape had lived on, but the muggle cars were lined up along each side of the street. Muggles came out of their houses.

"No, we're not having McDonalds for dinner, Toby!" the exasperated woman said to her child. "We're having sheppards pie. Do you know how lucky you are to have home cooked meals? Not everyone gets homecooked meals."

"But I want a Happy Meal."

The woman tugged the child into the back of a car, grumbling all the way. Personally he found the child annoying. How could one parent without putting a mouth-shut charm on the kid, like his parents had done whenever he'd annoyed them? Even Hermione had to see the benefits of magic for childrearing.

"Here we are," Hermione finally said and they walked into a squat building, which was as crowded as the Three Broomsticks on a Saturday night. "Here I bought you a three-day pass. You just show it to the counter."

Moving stairs took them deep down into the earth. It smelled and muggles pushed past in great hurry. "Where are we going?"

"I thought we could head to the Embankment and maybe have lunch in one of the restaurants."

How bad could a restaurant be?

"They're staring at me," he said.

"Because you're looking at them like you want to throw up."

"Why are they dressed so garishly?" Most of them wore the blue pants that muggles seemed so fond of wearing. And then with shapeless jackets colored like the brightest flowers. Even the men. "You're not making me wear any of that. That is where I draw the line."

Hermione smiled. "How are you possibly going to fit in?"

"I'm a Malfoy. We don't fit in."

The train came with a smelly woosh of wind and the muggles all rushed forwards, leaving them to squeeze into a corner. It made him feel claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but having her there helped, because he could focus on how close they were.

It took ages, but they finally arrived where she wanted to go and they emerged close to the Thames. There were muggles, but less of them.

"Do you want to do a river cruise?" Hermione asked.

"You're the tour guide. I will do whatever you want me to do."

"You know. I've lived in this city, but I've never really done the touristy thing here. You know?"

"No," he replied, trying to squash the tension he felt. It sat like coils in his shoulder muscles.

"Maybe we should go for a drink first."

"Yes, absolutely," he agreed.

She took him down the road to this strange pub with all glass walls where they took a seat by the window. Every single person who walked past could see exactly what they were doing. Draco wasn't used to being so exposed.

"Muggles make me tense," he admitted when she returned with the drinks.

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe because you always have to be concerned about them seeing something they shouldn't."

"Well, we are just a couple having a drink. That is all they see. As long as you don't whip out your want and start levitating things, they won't pay us that much attention. See," she said and leaned closer, kissing him. The sweetness was jarring against the tension he felt. As it broke, he looked around. No one looked at them. No one cared. They had never kissed in public before.

It finally sunk in when she said they were anonymous here. There was no one looking, searching for something to report or gossip about. It was just him and her in a sea of people who knew nothing about them and didn't care. They weren't even noted at strangers, just another couple like thousands others.

"Come here," he said.

"What?" she said leaning closer, and he kissed her again.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Hermione was embarrassed about how nervous she felt standing in front of Malfoy manor. The last time, and only time, she'd been here hadn't been fun at all. In fact, she would say it had been a low point.

Really, how could the people at the Ministry insist on this when everyone knew what had happened? This was ridiculous.

"It will be fine," Draco said and she looked over at him. Well, he'd always had delusions about his family, so she wasn't sure she trusted his word on it.

"Whatever," she said. "Let's get this over with."

They walked along the gravel path that led to the door. The massive house sat glumly in a meadow surrounded by forest. Clearly didn't want anyone stumbling onto it by surprise. Or they really treasured their privacy. For muggle torture and whatever they did for kicks.

The door was large and ornate, just like the house and an elf opened when they knocked. "Hello, Merchant," Draco said.

"Master, Draco," the elf said with a bow.

"This is Mrs. Malfoy," Draco said and Hermione throw him a warning look. "What would you like me to introduce you as?"

"How about Hermione. Hello, my name is Hermione. You can call me Hermione, like a normal person," she added tartly.

"Are my parents home?" Draco asked.

"Yes, your mother is in the parlor and your father is in the study. Do you wish me to inform them you have arrived?"

"No, we'll see them ourselves."

Draco walked inside and Hermione found herself hesitating for a moment. The ghost of the past came back to haunt, but she pushed it away and stepped inside. The entrance hall was large. Portraits and tapestries. Everything about this house attested to how old the family was. And technically, legally, she was apart of it. In all the craziness that could be.

Taking off his coat, Draco handed it to the elf and Hermione followed suit. "Who names their elf Merchant?"

"He came that way," he said before stepping away and then turning for her to follow—away from the door, where she could just turn and run away.

Draco took her to what had to be the parlor. It was a room she hadn't seen before. A large room with a fire, and old, dark furniture like the rest of the house. The windows only showed the palest of light.

"Draco," the real Mrs. Malfoy said as they entered. "And Miss Granger."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Draco corrected. What was he doing, insisting they all call her Mrs. Malfoy? What point was he trying to make?

"Of course," Narcissa Malfoy said with a tight smile. "Welcome. I understand you are staying two nights."

"Ah, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said in the voice only he had. He entered the room and for a moment, Hermione didn't want to look at him. So many of her bad memories and fears had centered around him, but she also refused to entertain them. "And the indominable Miss Granger."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Narcissa corrected him.

"Quite," he said.

"You can call me Miss Granger," Hermione said. "Might be easier." If she had just scuppered Draco's plan, she didn't know, but he really should inform her what he was doing in that case.

"Merchant, tea," Lucius Malfoy said and sat down. Narcissa followed suit. And things only felt more awkward for Hermione. Great, let's have tea with the Malfoys. "How is school?"

"Pointless," Draco said as they sat down on the sofa opposite from his mother.

"Only a few months left," Narcissa said. "I am sure you can bare it." The woman's eyes traveled to Hermione as she said it. Oh wonderful, the barely veiled insults were starting.

"And how was your visit with the Grangers?" Lucius asked. His expression was veiled, so it was hard to read whatever insult he was imbuing.

"The Grangers live in Australia, so we spent a few days in London. Muggle London. It was noisy and crowded, but otherwise fine." In fact, he'd largely embraced it, particularly the kissing in public part. She'd never realized he was quite so… affectionate. And it really had been fun, more fun than she'd had in a long time. She'd laughed at his confusion at just about everything. And if she teased him too much, he'd just kissed her. It really had been nice. Now from Heaven to Hell.

"If one is to visit a muggle city, Paris really is the one," Narcissa said. "Paris in winter is quite lovely. The muggles tend to stay indoors."

There was silence for a moment as if no one had anything else to say.

"And what are your plans for after you finish at Hogwarts, Miss Granger?"

"I might continue my studies at a muggle university," she said with her head held high. "They have more options in terms of higher education."

"No, I suppose the magical world's higher education is more practical in nature. Will you not be left behind as your education on muggle matters has been minimal?"

"I am sure I can overcome the disadvantage."

"Quite right."

Another silence descended.

"Well, it will be nice to have you home again," Narcissa said to Draco, and Hermione wondered if Draco's parents spent much time together normally. She didn't know enough about them to hazard a guess at the state of their marriage.

The tea was served and they drank. Lucius asked about the school governance and how the school was run, and Hermione tried to work out if he was genuinely interested or if he wanted proof that the school was going to ruin without him.

"I think we might rest and freshen up," Draco said. "I expect supper is at six."

"As always," his father said.

"A room has been prepared for… Mrs. Malfoy," Narcissa said.

"That won't be necessary. She'll be staying in mine. We are married, after all."

The silence was stark, and Hermione stood there as dumbfounded as everyone else seemed to be. Until Draco grabbed her by the wrist and led her out.

"What are you doing?" she demanded when they were back in the main hall. "Why did you say that?"

"Because it's true." He kept walking to a staircase that led up to the second story.

"Is your brain not in gear today? We were keeping this a secret, remember. They hate me. Disownment. Remember. What the hell?"

"Maybe we need to start owning up to some of the truth."

"Not starting with your parents! They're going to disown you, remember. They were quite clear."

"Yes, he's probably drawing up his new will right now."

"I don't understand," she said, stopping walking and finally he stopped too.

"Maybe I've had enough being dictated to. Legally, you are my wife, and it's going to stay that way for a while, no matter what we think about it. And I am not having anyone tell me what my commitments are."

"You literally just contradicted yourself."

"And you are literally the best friend I've ever had."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed like a fish, because she had no idea what to say.

"And we are lovers," he continued. "And I don't want to go through the pretence of pretending we are not. Not here. But saying that, what just happened had nothing to do with it. I am not longer going to be dictated to and the Malfoy fortune being held over my head like a carrot, ensuring I jump when they tell me to."

"That's a big gamble."

"Well, the future I saw, we were poor, so why waste time?"

"That future wasn't real," Hermione said. "It was a construct."

"Well, I'll be there. The question is if you will be."

"That's… insane."

"Is it? Shall we revisit that 'you're literally my best friend' part. And we're fucking. And we're married. Why wouldn't I want that?"

"Because it's—. Wait, you want to stay married?"

"Yes."

Her mind was utterly blank for a moment. "That was not the plan."

"I guess the Ministry got us. Or me rather, because you don't want me the same way I want you."

Too many things were going on in her head right now. It was just a jumble and she couldn't seem to focus on one thing for long enough for any of it to make sense.

"My room's this way," he said, pointing. "Or are we going to stand here all day?"

"Are you drunk?" she finally asked, trying to get this to make sense, because they'd taken a massive left turn somewhere.

"No, but I want to be."

She had no idea what to do right now. So only the practical remained, which was going where they were going. Had he just disowned himself? Or was he right that this was a stand for not being treated like a child anymore? A stand she was dab in the middle of.

And he wanted to stay married? What the hell was going on in his head? Then again, they'd just had a few blissful days utterly without supervision and he was on a high from it. It didn't mean he was serious. Was he serious? Again thoughts kept on crashing in. This really wasn't part of the future she foresaw. "Fuck," she groaned through gritted teeth.


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

It was quiet in his room, it had that cold feeling of somewhere abandoned. He turned the lights on, which didn't brighten the room much.

"You've lost your mind," Hermione said, shutting the door behind them and then looking around the room as if it was a surprise she'd ended up there. Granted, it was larger than their entire flat. Black and green, in complete accord with the Slytherin scheme.

Right now, though, it felt oppressive. He didn't want to be there, but he couldn't leave. Walking in he felt his chest tighten. Oh, this feeling again. The piercing ache, his lungs unable to breathe. His collar was strangling him.

"They're probably going to take you out of school," Hermione continued. "Might lock me up back in that awful dungeon."

Draco wanted to argue, to snort, but he couldn't get control of his breath. His chest was caving in on him and he felt as if he was going to pass out. Tugging at his collar, he tried to get it open. He couldn't breathe. His heart raced.

He made it as far as the bed, but not onto the bed and he sank down onto his knees, placing his head down on the mattress.

"What's the matter with you?"

Vice bands tighened around his chest. "Nothing," he managed to get out. His head rested on the bed. "I just…"

Scrabbling, he managed to get his shirt off and that did leave him feeling slightly better, the cool air, the release from constraint.

"Breathe," she said, her warm hand between his shoulder blades. "You're having a panic attack, you twit."

"Yes, I know what they are."

It felt better her being there, something he could focus on.

"You didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I did."

The cloying unease was lessening slightly, but his heart hadn't caught up yet, it beat in terror. A simple thing really, like a dumb beast that overreacted.

Hermione was kneeling next to him, a look of concern on her face. "Have you had these before?"

"Occasionally."

"Disinherit yourself a lot, do you?"

A smile tried to form on his lips, but he was too intent on breathing. It felt like a very manual process right then. "It had to be done."

Hermione was quiet. He knew she didn't agree. Probably because she didn't want the things he wanted.

"I can't live like this, in the life they have planned for me. I thought I could, for a long time, but I want the future I saw."

"That wasn't real," she said quietly.

"The point of it was real. I want you." Her eyes were glassy and she looked away. It hurt. Just the idea of her rejecting him hurt. In fact, it probably wouldn't stop. "And on some level you care about me too."

"Of course I do," she said, looking back at him, "but how long does this last? The things you say you want now, they aren't things that you've wanted. You always wanted this," she said, looking around the room. "And I understand that you're injured. I get that. So what about when you heal?"

"I can't heal without you."

A smile ghosted on her lips and there were tears in her eyes. "I—"

Whatever she was going to say now, he wouldn't let her. She was too practical for her own good. So he kissed her instead. A sweet, soft kiss. Everything he needed was in that kiss. The taste of her suffused his senses. She was the antidote to everything poisonous, the only other thing to make that tired beast that was his heart beat.

His fingers stroked down her neck, feeling her soft, buttery skin. His lips trailed down the other side of her neck, tasting the spot that always undid her, as his arms drew her to him. Returning to her lips, he claimed them again, partially not to allow her mind to invade her with practicalities. Like this, he had all of her, every part of her.

His tongue teased hers. He loved the weight of her in his arms, how real and substantial she felt. She needed to breathe and he released her, his kisses lingering on her shoulder, because he wasn't going to let her go.

Shifting her, he swung them until she was on the floor, her eyes glassy with want. That was probably his favorite look of all, when all she wanted was him. Snuggled between her thighs, he lay down on her and submerged every one of his senses in another kiss. Cresting when his hips rolled into hers, tension flaring sharply. Her groan reverberated through him.

Each time he ground into her, her breath grew harsher and more labored. She ground back. Shifting his hands down, he drew her skirt up her thighs, which always felt subversively naughty. And then the little piece of hand magic he'd stumbled onto, which tore her underwear at the side. He'd discovered it in the heat of the moment, one of the few hand magics he could do, but his most precious ones.

Shifting, he freed and positioned himself. It felt like coming home, every doubt or thought being wiped away, replaced by pure goodness. Sinking down into her until he was buried inside her. He loved the way she looked underneath him, undone and wanting. He loved how she moved, her sounds—the feel of her.

Pulling back, he sank into her again and she came to him. She felt him clench around him, her body, her hands drawing him, her moans.

It was just too much. He rolled his hips into her again and again, floating on the feeling, refusing to give in against the onslaught of pleasure, until her moans turned to cries. It was too much, too sharp and he couldn't hold on. He loved that moment when he felt her come, all he had been waiting for.

"Draco," she cried, her fingers gripped into his sides, and everything disappeared, replaced with exquisiteness. This was magic if there ever was any. This had to be the heart of it.

With ragged breath, he sunk down on her. Not an ounce of him regretted the decision he'd made, now he just needed her to get there. Obviously she would. She hadn't run screaming from the house, which basically meant she needed him to convince her. This was a good start. It was good everything.

"Next time we should try the bed. It's nice and soft," he said and she shoved him lightly.

"Thank you for being considerate in the aftermath, because I'm sure that was soft enough for you."

Shifting down, he placed his chin on her chest, not quite willing to let her go yet. "I am a selfish creature."

"That's never changed."

"If I knock you up I can keep you," he said with a smile. Even saying made his stomach flip. There was an excitement there he couldn't explain. He wanted it. "I know where you keep your pills."

"Don't even think about it. I'd never forgive me."

"You would eventually," he said, placing a kiss on her chest, but she shoved him off her and got up, before wandered into the bathroom and closed the door.

The strange thing about Hermione was that the closer they got, the closer she kept her secrets. Before, he'd always known how she was feeling, but now she kept her feelings to herself. When it came to physical, she held nothing back, but when it came to stating her emotions, she quietened. What was it about him that she was so unsure of?

That he would change his mind. She'd said so a minute ago. "I can't prove things to you if you don't let me," he said to the closed door, loud enough so she could hear. Her fears were the longer term and that he couldn't prove to her. Could he guarantee how he'd feel in five years' time when they could officially divorce? He thought he'd feel exactly the same way, but how could he prove it? Four years now, four and a quarter. How had things gone so fast?

Getting up, he did up his pants and lay down on the bed. He hated being back here, because there were so many bad memories in this house. This house had stopped being a safe place. It was a place of terror, for both of them.

"Do you want to leave?" he asked the closed door. "We can go back to the muggle world if you like." In fact, the lager was quite nice, and the sweet bread with holes in them.

Finally she emerged. "No, I'm fine. We're supposed to stay here, so we'll stay."

Slowly, she wandered around the room, over to the bookcase where he kept his things. She placed her finger on the snitch he'd won once. It had been a big day for the boy he wasn't anymore. "None of this stuff matters to me anymore."

"Maybe the things we used to care about should still matter to us."

"Like you being a complete swot?" His eyes followed her as she studied his things.

"What do you want from me?"

"Everything."

"Well, we can't have everything if we're together."

"Do you believe I am completely incapable of providing for my family without the Malfoy money?"

Color stained her cheeks. "No, but I am worried you're choosing a course that's too far from the person you were, the person you're supposed to be."

Leaning back, he put his wrist behind his head. "You know the first time I wanked was right here."

"Oh wonderful, please tell."

"And I'm pretty sure I was thinking about you."

"You hated me."

"Yes. With every fibre of my being, including… my cock," he mouthed, pointing at his crotch. "Don't you think that us hated each other from the moment we clapped eyes means something? Hate isn't indifferent."

"You hated Harry just as much."

"True, but I never wanked thinking about him."

"Can we stop talking about wanking?"

"Well, I kind of feel like I've graduated from wanking these days. The point I am making is that maybe it's always been you—for me."

The look she gave him was hard to work out. Still kept things close to her chest. He simply had to wait until she revealed her thoughts. Or he could buy a house. Where would she want to live? The city? South, west, north? Maybe an isolated, windy island in the Hebrides?

It was raining outside, so he couldn't really take her out to the garden. "What to see the library?"

"No."

"Liar. Because there's this book about 14th century magical erotica. It was banned for centuries. Still might be. You'll never see something like that at Hogwarts."

That curiosity glinted in her eyes for a moment. The old Hermione was still in there somewhere. Bit by bit, she needed to be drawn out.

"We'll try whatever position you pick," he said with a smile and she rolled her eyes.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50

It rained and Hermione felt trapped in the house. Every room was sumptuous, furniture made with the finest materials, hand crafted elegance. It was almost too much to take in. She'd never seen anything like it, except perhaps some of the chateaus she and her family had been to on holidays in France. But this had a darkness running though it, dark colors, dark wood. Dark intent.

It wasn't her style at all, but it made her understand Draco more. This is where he came from. This is where he'd been raised, along with a specific set of prejudices. And it was curious that he was choosing to leave it behind. For her.

Only being here did she see what a monumental decision it was. To utterly turn his back on where he'd come from, from the expectations that were placed on him.

The Malfoys had been very cordial during dinner last night. The conversation had been stilted. Some inquiries about Hogwarts, but otherwise it had seemed pained. Likely because of her presence, so it was hard to tell what it was like normally.

Draco had gone somewhere with his father and she'd been left behind with a teapot in a spot by the large, paned window. The tea was nice, perfectly brewed with a small plate of shortcake biscuits. Cut flowers sat in a vase, grown in some greenhouse somewhere, because there weren't any flowers this time of year.

With a sigh, she sat and watched the rain on the windowpanes, the view outside contorted in shades of grey. How could one relax in a house like this?

"Ah, there you are," Narcissa said, appearing in the doorway, looking impossibly elegant. "I understand Draco and Lucius have gone to Gringotts."

"Yes," Hermione said. Draco hadn't actually said where they were going.

Walking over, Narcissa sat down on the seat opposite a clicked her fingers. There was silence for a moment, then an elf appeared. "Another cup, I think."

The elf disappeared and reappeared again, handing the cup over in it's tiny hands like it was an offering to a deity. "Thank you," Narcissa said and then placed it down and poured tea into it. "It appears you and my son have developed a degree of closeness."

Perhaps it wasn't surprising that his mother had sought her out after the revelations Draco had declared last night. But what could she say? Close confines, endless pressure, isolation from others. Raging hormones and feeling alone. Perhaps it wasn't surprising things had happened. But why was the woman here? What was it she was looking for Hermione to confirm? Obviously, this was going to be a talk of some kind.

Silence stretched and she was being rude by not saying anything, but she really didn't want to discuss the state of her relationship with Narcissa Malfoy. "We have grown to depend on each other."

Narcissa's chin shifted slightly and she looked down as she stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea. Silence stretched again. A smile spread across her lips. "Boys have a way of getting what they want."

She took a sip of her tea and sighed with the pleasure of it. "I would have thought you were more clever than that," she continued. Things were much more complex than the woman assumed. "Oh, I'm sure he'd promised you all sorts of things. He might even believe it."

This conversation was literally hell, mirror her very deepest worries.

Narcissa placed the small silver teaspoon down on the plate. "But you are not stupid. That has been plain or a long time, but you are young. In the end, men belong where they belong. One cannot change what one is."

"Is that so?" Hermione said, wishing she could just end this conversation. "Something in Draco seems to be rejecting your view of things."

"It might seem that way, and I am sure he's telling you that, but one has to look deeper for the truth."

She wasn't going to fall into the trap of asking what truth that was. She had a good understanding of what the Malfoys thought, particularly about her suitability for their son. Yet Draco was pursing her because he didn't want what he had here, saw a cold and colorless future.

Her mind searched for something to say, something that expressed her perspective on the matter. She certainly didn't want to give the woman's point of view legitimacy by saying she'd been wondering about Draco's longterm commitment to what he was saying. "I think Draco is seeking a life where he feels alive."

The woman's smile didn't falter, but something flashed through her eyes. "Yes, but one day, one ceases to need a crutch."

Ouch, that was harsh. There was so many thing Hermione wanted to say to this woman, rail at her for what they'd done to their son, for the lies and prejudice they'd filled his head with, and the fact that they were trying to thwart whatever happiness he'd found.

"Obviously there are only a few months left of the school year. I understand you are homeless, and this might seem like a good solution to you, but I am not sure my husband will agree to let you stay here."

"I've never expected to." In fact, she couldn't be bribed to. Hell would have to freeze over before she agreed to live here. "As you say, one knows where one belongs."

"Exactly," the woman said with a broader smile. "I think you had anticipated that."

Ickiness contracted along her skin, but at least the woman wasn't insulting her intelligence by proposing she was here for his money. Or maybe they believed that she was, but was too smart to be blatant or obvious about it. It made her wonder what they thought she was after. It made her wonder what she herself was after. She'd fought this relationship on so many levels, and it wasn't that she objected to Draco as such. It certainly wasn't because his parents disapproval, but because she feared Draco would falter, and he would do exactly what his mother said he would do, go back to where he belonged when he'd had what he needed from her.

"I don't care what you think about it," Hermione finally said.

"Oh, I think you do," Narcissa said. The woman was watching her, watching for her to betray herself somehow. "If love is true, one does not wish ones partner to hurt himself, to be cut off from where he belong. Love wishes the best for him. And you may not believe me, but it isn't your blood status. It is unfortunate, but it is not the end of the world. If you could be molded into the wife he needs, that would be one thing, but I don't think you can. And it may not be now, or in the next few years, but eventually that will start to grate, that the two part of his life plainly don't fit together. And for all he says, he cannot escape what he is and how he was raised. It is ingrained."

This would be so much easier if these statements were so spot on reflecting her own fears, or that she was accused of being a gold digger. It was as if Narcissa was giving those fears legitimacy. That eventually he would be resentful.

But what Narcissa was saying was that _she_ would never bend to accept them, and the truth was that she had strived against everything they were for all of her life. Against everything he was.

"If you do care about him, you wouldn't wish him a life that was so disjointed. Because it will cause significant pain for him. Perhaps even place him in an impossible situation."

Tears were prickling at the back of her eyes. She'd been ready for a fight, to face down their prejudice and bigotry, but they were smart. They defeated her with her own.

Narcissa looked out. "These days are so dreary. I will leave you to your musings." The relentless serene smile never budged. As elegantly as she'd approached, she floated out of the room again. Hermione hated the tickling in her nose, the heaviness in her eyes, more so the heaviness in her heart. She'd just battled and she'd lost.

Ugly truths had been firmed up. In order for them to be, Draco was going to have to straddle between the two worlds, and she would be the one who wouldn't tolerate it. Her friends, her people, would never accept it. They would not accept Draco being different from them, but there would be parts he would never be able to shake.

What if they did end up here? Draco would eventually inherit this house. Would she force him to say no to living here because she couldn't see herself living in a house like this? This is what he was, that was the point. For them to meld, things would have to be sacrificed on her part. She would have to meet him halfway.

It didn't mean the relationship was impossible, it would just require more work that marrying a man with the exact same values and sensibilities as her. Granted, they were already married, but she hadn't really felt it. it hadn't been real, instead something forced on her, on them. But the thing they were considering now was something very different, and much more serious.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Gringotts was back the way it had always been. The damage had been skilfully repaired, covered up, hidden away, just like so many wished the last few years could be. Hermione had done the damage. She'd been here and she'd wreaked havoc. He doubted they'd replaced the dragon, poor thing stuck down there with these little bastards. Draco had never liked the goblins. There was always something a little two-faced about them in his book. A bastion of independence, but they folded like wet paper when the pressure was on.

"Mr. Malfoys," the gatekeeper said as they approached, staring down his long nose. There was a terseness in the goblin's voice, and Draco suspected the terseness was more for him. Lucius had been on the charm offensive with most, and the goblins would definitely have been on the list. The last time they'd seen Draco, though, he'd been a Death eater, and anyone who hadn't done what he'd said had literally threatened his survival. They would not forget in a hurry. "I presume you have your key."

"Of course I do," Lucius said with a smile. A smile never looked right on him. And it had been a rare thing that he'd seen his father genuinely smile, or laugh for that matter. Being a Malfoy wasn't a laughing matter, and he was probably here to be disowned. But then he didn't want to be the one who never genuinely smiled, the one whose smiling muscles didn't work properly through lack of use.

Lucius provided the key and a goblin came and took it before bidding them to follow. When he'd been a child, the ride to their vault was awe-inspiring. Now he just wanted this to be over with. His father had demanded he come, probably to show him what he was giving up. A lot of money and a live where he never smiled.

Once there, the goblin performed his magic, turned the key and stepped back. The contents were significantly diminished. Reparations, they'd called it. The damage occurred had to be paid for somehow.

Lucius was silent in the dark room. Gold glinted. Curiously, Voldemort hadn't really cared about money. Who needed money when one had power? It wasn't as if Voldemort paid for anything. Not dying was your reward.

"Your duty," Lucius started, "is to recoup what we have lost. My duty as well."

So that was how he was going to play it—duty. It was the same concept that had been drilled into him since the moment he could listen. "My priorities have changed. War does that."

"Changed away from the benefit of your family? The name you bear?"

"Yes," was all he said, because anything he said would be twisted and misconstrued until they got to the point, which was that his marriage to Granger wasn't acceptable, so there was little point arguing.

"You ungrateful little idiot."

"Ungrateful? For what? Nearly getting me killed on numerous occasions? Inviting that thing into our house? Killing my classmates? How about teachers? All those innocent people? The things I had to do?"

"We did what we did to survive."

"And now I am doing the same."

"Don't be melodramatic," Lucius said dismissively.

"I'm not. I am simply telling you how things are. Granger and myself are married, and it may well be that continues. We may have children."

"I don't want that girl living in my house!" Lucius roared.

"I already anticipated that, so don't worry, we have no plans to. And in all honesty, I think Hermione would be less enthusiastic about it than you are. Are we done here?"

"This is what you were born to do. We must all serve the family name." His voice had a sense of desperation to it, because he was realising that whatever leverage he had had lost its power.

"I've already served it. Now I am serving me." In a sense, it was the most Slytherin thing he'd ever said. "Please take what we came for." This place held bad connotations for him these days. Too much had passed.

"You are making decisions based on emotional delirious. You will grow to regret this more than any decision you've ever made. Use her if you must, but don't make stupid decisions. I'm sure this feels pertinent right now, but this period will pass and then where will you be? You will end up living in squalor like those damned Weasleys. They're embarrassing to our whole race."

"I won't be stuck in a cold house with nothing but a vault to warm me."

"You completely misunderstand the relationship between myself and your mother."

"I hope so, but it is not a route I am taking." Leaving the vault, he walked out to the landing where the little goblin waited. They wouldn't leave until Lucius was done, but Draco had had enough of the conversation. They were at a standstill, because Lucius had not achieved what he wanted. There was nothing he specifically came here to collect.

"Mark my words," Lucius said as he emerged from the vault. "You will be miserable and you will return with your tail tucked between your legs."

"Maybe. But I am willing to take the chance."

"I am disappointed in your lack of foresight. It is a reaction to the unfortunate circumstances we've endured."

"They weren't circumstances. You brought them about. They weren't something that just happened to us."

"You have little understanding of how things really are. You think we had some power against the dark lord. Survival was the only objective."

That blatantly wasn't true. For a while, there had been hope that they would come out in a better position, until Lucius had learned in no uncertain terms that he couldn't contain or manipulate Voldemort. The man was just to twisted to reason with, which also meant that Lucius' tried and true tactics were mute.

They took the cart back to the main hall and then left. Lucius was clearly disappointed with him, and Draco found he didn't care. Once out, it took seconds to apparate back to Malfoy Manor. He was relieved that was done. It had been expected, and it may well be that his parents stopped speaking to him, but he wasn't overly concerned. On some level, he was still so very angry with them and not having to deal with them would be a relief. Perhaps that would pass, but he wasn't sure what he needed from them anymore. Forced to choose between them and Hermione, the choice was already made, and if they were outraged by the choice, that was simply too bad.

He found Hermione in his bedroom, lying on the bed, reading the Daily Prophet. She smiled when she saw him. "How'd it go?"

"As expected."

"Your mother had a little chat with me."

"A multi front attack. I'm sure they planned it that way. What did she say?"

"That you would be resentful and change your mind."

"Well, they are singing from the same song sheet, then," he said and took his jacket off. "We can leave if you want. Technically we're supposed to stay here another night, but we can leave."

She chewed on her lip for a moment. "No, let's finish the challenge and then we can—"

"Never come back," he finished.

Hermione sat up. "This is a big deal," she said.

"Yes," he admitted. "It is not a decision that is going to please any of them. Anyone, actually."

"Except the Ministry," she said.

"Well, there you go. Someone's on our side," he said with a smile. "What do you want to do?" He lay down on the bed facing her.

"I suppose you could show me some of the Malfoy treasures. I'll hazard a guess this house if full of them."

"It is. We have this old Chinese painting, where if you stare at it long enough, you get absorbed into the picture."

"Why?"

"There doesn't seem to be a reason other than just to show you the picture better. We're not sure who made it, or really where it came from. It's just been in the family as long as anyone can remember. And there's a mummy that answers questions, but I can't stop sneezing, and I don't want to guess what from."

Hermione smiled, and he loved how it softened her. He loved how he instantly relaxed in her company. Things felt soft and fun, and full of possibilities."

"Oh, there's this charmed rose that never stops blooming."

"Kind of like Beauty and the Beast?"

"Huh?"

"Oh a muggle story. There's this enchanted rose, a curse actually. Quite apt really."

"Is it? Right. I take it you're the beast."

"Ha ha," she said and Draco got up. He had to go to the bathroom before they set off on this survey of the Malfoy Manor mysteries. Now that he thought about it, there were actually quite a few curios in the house. He was just so used to them, they had stopping being curious to him.

It was amazing how he could just put everything behind him when he was with her. It melted away. There was excitement and wonder in the world, even the tired old curios he hadn't paid attention to in years.

"And I have to show you the library. You don't fool me. Books literally make you wet."

"Eloquent as always," she said, that tart disapproval in her voice. Irrespective, he was planning on doing thing with her in the library that no one would approve of. Except perhaps the Ministry. "I've kind of figured I need to meet you halfway," she called from the bed.

"Halfway? At the stairs?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you at the stairs," she said, again with that tart voice she used when she making fun of him. Sometimes the things she said plain make no sense, especially as she was still there when he came out.

"Ready?"

"I am." She bounded off the bed, and he loved her energy. He loved being around her. He loved how her scent always took him out of himself. "Do you think we'll run into your parents?"

"I think they are protesting by depriving us of their presence."

"Well, that is crushing," she said sarcastically.

"Yeah, well, don't gloat. You still have to tell your friends. Not quite so sarcastic now, are you? Because they'll take it really well. Traitor." They were both traitors, and there was something subversively delicious about it. More so that she had to tell Potter and Weaselby. "Can't back out now."


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter 52

Leaving Malfoy Manor was certainly not something Hermione regretted. Things had become decided chilly, so it was a relief to leave. But she also knew that the Malfoys were going to be around in some capacity. They were his parents, and between them, they were the only parents going. Except maybe the Weasleys, who were are much her parents as anyone else. Two families that loved and adored each other. Wonderful.

Saying that, they'dd basically decided that people could come around to their way of thinking, or they could take a flying leap. At this point, she wasn't sure if there was anyone who wouldn't choose the flying leap.

"You're going to have to tell them," Draco said as they sat in the luxurious Malfoy car. Dark and sleek, and it sped unseen down roads and through air. Who made this car?

"I know," she said, wishing to change the topic. Telling her friends wasn't something she even wanted to think about, let alone contemplate. It was just… it wasn't going to be well received. She couldn't even imagine the horror on Harry's face.

It was also true that she'd grown more and more distant from them due to keeping this secret. It was just easier not spending time with them—largely because she was so occupied at home—but also having to lie when they asked her awkward questions.

With a sigh, she stared out the window. The scenery was changing. It was growing darker with dense forests. They had to be getting closer. The turn off to Hogsmeade was a ramshackle looking road that appeared to have been abandoned years ago. It looked unpleasant, and it did so for a purpose. Its intent was to make muggles want to not go there. And right now, she felt a little the same. Not that she wasn't preferring going back over staying on at Malfoy Manor.

Draco's fingers threaded through hers. It was such an intimate and simple gesture.

In fact, there was a party on that night, a welcome back and a 'we survived' after this final challenge.

Hogsmeade passed by, looking dark and miserable this time of year. Without students running wild in it, it was a very quiet place. And the road between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts was barely more than a track. The car was slow driving down it. It didn't go all the way and they had to walk for a good portion of it.

Wet mist surrounded them, soaking into their clothes as they walked along the covered bridge. "It's strange to thing we'll be leaving here soon," she said as she looked up at the castle.

"I'm ready," Draco said.

She was too, but she was also going to miss it. It was the only home she had right now. Increasingly, her lack of family was noticeable to her. At first, she was just shocked she'd survived the war, and then she'd been too busy trying to get some control over her emotions.

They passed two couples in the courtyard, excitedly hugging, and then the belly rubbing that was becoming too familiar a sight. Another baby on the way. Whereas most people assumed she was safe from the condition because she and Draco couldn't stand each other, and would never let themselves even contemplate doing something that would risk it.

Except that wasn't the reason, and now she had to address the assumption. She had no idea how. Oh, by the way, the person you've hated most in this school during the entire time you've been here, well, I've been… She couldn't even finish the sentence. They could refuse to ever speak to her again. Likely they would see it as downright treacherous. And then possible weak. Oh, there was no way of putting this in a good light. What could she say? They'd worked past their differences, the years of bullying, degradation and humiliation. Even to herself, she couldn't explain why she was with him.

Obviously she could say he'd changed, which wasn't true. Or explain he was so miserable and adrift she'd felt sorry for him. Their relationship hadn't been that simple. It didn't even begin to explain it. They may even accuse her of being imperioed.

They'd just fallen in love, mostly against their wills. Although Draco had embraced it much more readily than she had, which she wouldn't have assumed.

The Gryffindors were having a little get together that night. It really was the time to tell them. Rather than going on lying about it. What would she say when they'd ask how long it had been going on for? Admit how long she'd been lying to them?

Maybe she should tell Ginny first, but then she didn't know if Ginny would completely lose the plot, or be welcoming of it. It was hard to tell how Ginny would take it. And it would be cowardly to tell Ginny so she would break the news to everyone else.

It was nice to be back in their apartment and Hermione lay down on the sofa and slept for an hour. Then they ate in the Great Hall, sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table. Most still gave Draco a wide berth.

"So what are we going to do in a couple of months when we have to leave?" Hermione asked.

Draco chewed his food for a moment. "I think the easiest thing would be to go live in your little shoebox."

"I will have to give the people there notice." Also she was going to have to afford the mortgage on the place, which would mean working. Truthfully she'd through little about the practicalities of leaving Hogwarts, with or without him. She would have to get a job. And him. Or she could study and get a student allowance. But right now, she just couldn't think of the future and what she wanted to do with her life. All the plans she'd had before the war had just melted away. And New York. She didn't have the experience or education right now to do that. And it had been a means of getting away from Draco.

Her nervousness only grew ahead of the party, nervously walking around their apartment, still not having a clue how to broach the subject. There had to be a way of subtly bringing it in, maybe suggest that Draco wasn't that bad when you got to know him. That he was actually quite sweet and loyal—to the people he wanted to be loyal to, and stood by his decisions against what anyone else thought. On the face of it, Harry wouldn't object to it. If he could just get past his negative stance towards Draco.

"Just getting it over with," Draco said. "It's the best way. Just rip the plaster off."

"There are ways of not inducing shock."

"Is it so shocking?"

"Yes," she said with a smile. "I will be to them. This is a completely unnatural occurrence to them. Who wouldn't think it was shocking?"

"Quite a few people, I would suspect."

Hermione just stared at him for a moment, not being able to put her thoughts into words, because it was shocking someone not being shocked. Okay, maybe view objectively with the animosity between them, it would be utterly inconceivable that would turn into something. Harry would never see that, nor Ron.

"Time to go," Draco said, much too cheerily.

She didn't want to do this. It was going to be awful. Firstly they weren't going to be rapped that she'd brought him in the first place.

Dean's apartment was full of people, faces that should be comforting, but was anything but right now. Happy, smiling faces. Dean even said hello to Draco, which was cordial of him. Everyone was still highly uncomfortable around him.

Harry was standing in a doorway leading out the back with a drink in his hand. This apartment was bigger than hers, which happened when one was expecting. Hopefully this wouldn't rear Draco's envy again. It was not a subject she wanted to broach again.

"Hey," she said as she approached Harry.

"Hey, Mione. How was your home visit? I was worried about you. So the Malfoys haven't chopped you up and buried you in the garden?"

"I suspect they were contemplating it." Much more likely than Harry jokingly suggested. They might even have discussed it. "We actually had a really nice time in London."

"Really?" Ron said, coming up. "I can't imagine it was a barrel of laughs having to spend it with him."

No, it hadn't been a barrel of laughs, but there's been a lot of kissing involved, though. Could she just leave now and go back to the apartment?

"How are your parents?" she asked Ron. Now was the moment to say something, but she just couldn't bring herself to.

Draco appeared and Ron immediately tensed. "Me and Hermione are fucking," Draco said and there was an unnatural stillness. The expression on Harry's face was shock, and with Ron, it morphed into rage.

The punch seemed to happen in slow motion, but she had no time to react, neither did anyone else.

"Ron!" Hermione yelled as Draco collapsed onto the wall behind him.

"Fucking liar!" Ron yelled, and Harry was holding him back.

"See. Easy," Draco said, standing again. Blood was gushing from his nose and mouth.

"Are you insane?"

"You were totally going to chicken out. It's done now."

Someone gave him a towel and he held it to his face.

"This is what I didn't want to happen."

"Why, it was going to happen either way."

Ron had been manhandled off somewhere. Everyone had seen what happened. If they knew why, she didn't have a clue. The news would travel, though. The cat was very much out of the bag.

"I think you need to go to the Hospital wing."

"Yeah, I think he broke my nose."

"Let's go," she said through clench teeth, pulling him by the arm. "That was completely unnecessary," she said as they got outside.

"It was painful watching you mince around. I swear you'd rather face Voldemort than tell your friends you're in love with me."

I'm not… she wanted to counter, but that would be a lie. "Not quite," she finally said. "Besides Voldemort really would have killed you."

"You mean just like your friends just tried to do. Are you saying your friends are on par with Voldemort?"

"They just needed to be brought into the idea gently."

"You would have minced around it for weeks."

"Not," she said, but she couldn't put her full outrage behind the statement, because he could well be right.

Madam Pomfrey tsked when they arrived. There was a second year in there with a second pair of arms.

"Lie down, Mr. Malfoy. The nose is easy to fix, but you could have a concussion."

"Wouldn't be the first," he said as he complied.

Madam Pomfrey went about her examination.

"You alright?" Harry asked at her side. "Sorry about that."

"About Ron flying off the handle. Yet again."

"Well, this one was hardly surprising, was it?"

"So it justified what he did?"

"No. Then again, I cut him to pieces with magic once."

"And could you please stop doing that."

There was silence for a moment.

"Is it true?" Harry asked.

"What do you think?"

He didn't say anything for a while. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It just is and that is all there's to it."

"Do his parents know?"

"Yes. It wasn't received with enthusiasm."

"So why?"

"How am I supposed to explain it? It just is."

"Do you love him?"

This was painful and she didn't want to detail what her feelings were, so she didn't answer.

"I can't believe this. It's just… It'll take some time to get used to. Is this like a short-term thing, or something… Are you going to stay married?"

"Yes. Draco's kind of been disowned, I think. That was the going conversation."

"Sounds like a fun time."

Hermione chuckled. "Well, they actually took it better than Ron did."

"He'll get over it. Won't be happy about it, but then it's none of his business, really, isn't it?" Harry said.

"No, it isn't."


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter 53

So now everyone knew. The whole of the school seemed to know within minutes. At least the next day. Did people stay awake at night and gossip? Although he had to admit, this would be a juicy one. The former enemies of the school, and broader, getting it on, and then Weasleby punching his lights out—just about. There was drama on a level his father would cringe at. Perhaps a good thing they weren't on speaking terms. Probably more justification for Lucius cutting him out of the will.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure how he felt about that yet, being poor. There was also something in him that wanted to prove that his superiority was inherent, and not simply driven from wealth. There was also nervousness there. He'd deny it if anyone asked, but he worried that he wouldn't be able to handle not having everything he wanted when he wanted it.

Saying that, there wasn't anything material he wanted. It was more 'if' he wanted it. But the price his parents asked was too high, and he wasn't prepared to pay it.

People were eyeing him with guarded curiosity, and he wondered what went on in their heads. Was he less of a monster now that he was fucking Granger? Probably, in their eyes. It didn't surprise him how superficial people were. People saw what they wanted to see.

The Great Hall was noisy with students waiting for breakfast. Granger had chosen to skip breakfast, although he was fairly certain she was uneasy about the news of their relationship being out. Maybe nervous about being accosted by everyone at once wanting to know what had happened, how, when, where. Perhaps that cringeworthy woman from the Daily Prophet was skulking around somewhere.

She'd struggle to get any future interviews from either Hermione or him, after the misrepresentations she'd made of both of them. Although Hermione's misrepresentations still made him chuckle, but in light of those misrepresentations, the woman was likely going to cast more aspersions toward Hermione regarding her ambition, aligning herself with a Malfoy. Tsk, tsk. Hermione's ambition might even overshadow him being a proven Death Eater. What was mayhem and murder compared to gold-digging ambition? Except there was no gold in this case.

Draco took his usual seat at the end of the Ravenclaw table, where he got left alone and the more brave Slytherins wouldn't gang up and accuse him of having cheek taking a seat at the Slytherin table. All safe knowing he wasn't in a position to respond. Just once he wanted to scare them, but it would get him kicked out faster than he could finish his next forkful. Hermione would be upset.

The Ravenclaws left him alone. It was neutral territory for some reason.

A perfumed current of air passed and someone sat down opposite him. Pansy. He knew before he looked up. "What do you want?"

"That is quite some bruise on your face. Little birdies are talking all over the castle," he said airly. Why was she here? Were they friends whenever she wanted something? It was the only reason she was here right now. "Is it true, then?" she said with a look of distaste.

"Since when do I owe you insight into my business?"

"Can't be true. Certainly doesn't have that pregnant look about her," she said tartly. "Or else… the family jewels just refuse to sparkle."

"You're not pregnant."

"I wouldn't let Justin touch me with a ten-foot pole. That's never going to happen. And I would have thought you'd feel the same. Unless you're lying about everything." Was there delight in her voice? Maybe hope? After treating him the way she had, that sounded outrageous. More likely, she just wanted to be proven right. "Obviously, you can tell me. I've always kept your secrets." That had been true at one time, maybe it still was true on some level. "What's your game?"

"Hermione is not pregnant because she's smarter than you."

The disapproval was clear by the tightness around her mouth. "My, my, you defend her now. That's quite a change in tune from you. Your parents will be thrilled, of course."

"They know. They aren't. But it's not their choice."

"I'm sure they'll find some way of making you see the light."

"They have tried."

Pansy was silent for a moment. "So it is going to be wedded bliss for you when you leave here?"

"Something like that." If he had any concerns about going to live in a shoebox in London, he wasn't about to share them with Pansy. There had been a time when he'd confided in her, but that time had passed. Too much had happened, and he couldn't fully trust Pansy to not use his secrets if it served her. Their friendship was in the past.

"You'll come to your senses eventually. What are you going to do, have dinner parties with Potter and his friends?"

She had a worthy point, but then the war, and times after, had showed him was his friendships had been worth. In ways, he wondered if he'd confused friendship for alliances. When times had been tough, it had not suited the Slytherins to be linked with him. They may get over that in time, but he wasn't sure he was willing or able to forget. The thick and thin loyalty of the Gryffindors was often mocked, but when times were lean, it meant a great deal.

They were still annoying beyond reason.

"So, you and Justin are going your separate ways?"

"Bye, bye, Justin. Best of luck for the future," Pansy said in a singing voice. "I'll be starting a petition with the Ministry to get a divorce. It's been a year. We are never going to reconsider. Rather, I am not going to reconsider. He would count himself lucky."

If that was entirely true, Draco didn't know. Maybe it was. Pansy would be a downright bitch to him, but he might not mind. Who knew. Some guys were into that. Draco had given up questioning who should be with whom. All he knew that he was where he wanted to be. "Good luck."

"I can't believe you folded," she said rising of out her seat. "Thought you were stronger than that, but you are a man, and inherently weak. Bye, Draco." She walked off without a response. Yep, Pansy was a bitch, but she always had been. But she only had power if you let her digs get to you. And he didn't care enough to get bothered.

Finishing his breakfast, he got up and walked out, aware of the solemn glares from the Gryffindor table. They were really for Hermione to deal with. He'd had to deal with Pansy, so that was on par, wasn't it?

Their apartment was silent when he returned, finding Hermione on the sofa, reading. She looked up and smiled. "How was it?"

"Pansy questioned the quality of my manhood."

A frown drew her eyebrows together. "Pardon?"

"She's alluding that we are lying because you're not pregnant. Therefore, this must be some kind of manoeuvre."

"I'm not having a baby because your friends doubt us. We're too young to have a baby."

Draco wasn't entirely sure he agreed. It hadn't gone unnoticed how excited some people were. There had been a baby in the vision he'd seen, and he hadn't minded. Something about the whole thing was really exciting.

Hermione placed her book down. "Can you imagine taking a screaming infant on holiday with you? We could barely travel."

That was a point. They could travel all over the world, just the two of them. It would require some money. How the fuck was he going to earn money?

Hermione returned to her book and Draco shifted between her legs until his head rested on her belly. What could he do? It wouldn't be impossible to get someone to employ him. Shacklebolt would give him a job if he asked. He was a reasonable man. Not a bad minister with the exception of this stupid marriage law. Then again, the marriage law had gotten him her, and disowned.

But he wanted to do more interesting things than sit in some boring Ministry office, filing paperwork. There was Gringotts. Money was more interesting than Ministry business. Law, but that would take intense study. Obviously if he was going to do it, he was going to be good at it. Perhaps not a bad option longer term. He could be a barrister that terrified his opponents. He was a Death Eater after all. He was the cautionary tale, the one people warned their children about. "I'm going to write my memoir."

"You're only nineteen."

"I'll write about my time as a Death Eater. About everything leading up to it. People will buy that book in droves. I mean, they bought that idiot Lockheart's books by the thousands. They'll buy mine out of morbid curiosity. Then we can go anywhere we want." Shifting up along her, he kissed her. "I think they'd even be curious to know what it was like growing up in Malfoy Manor."

"Your parents would despise you."

"What's one more grievance? I'll even tell them how you punched me in third year. Out of nowhere, you just punched me."

"Liar."

He leaned closer to her ear. "Maybe I should tell them that I touched myself afterwards."

"You know, I am not beyond punching you now."

"We'll be star-crossed lovers."

"Let's not get carried away."

"Everyone loves a happy ending, because," he said, nicely nestled between her thighs, "I have you just where I want you." The kiss stole her objection, distracted her. The story really would have everything, and once out there, everyone would understand the unlikely marriage between the Gryffindor princess and the Death Eater. Kissing her was too distracting to think about it further, but the idea was there and it was alive. Right now, there was more pressing things to focus on.

A/N I know I'm overdue posting this, but I have been traveling, and writing just doesn't work for me when I travel. One chapter to go on this story. It has been a constant companion for quite a while, and it's going to end next week.


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter 54

The clock ticked exceedingly slowly as Hermione waited for exams to finish. Without even trying, she'd performed reasonably well. Last year, she'd been so incensed that she couldn't finish her education, she'd read all the required books out of spite. This year, she'd barely picked up a book, partially out of protest, even if she couldn't exactly define what she'd been protesting against.

Was she still angry? Yes.

But she could also distract herself now. Her anger didn't consume her like it had, and that was pretty remarkable. Everyone had gotten through the year in one way or another. It had been a miserable year for some, no doubt.

Looking across the large hall, she saw Draco still writing at his desk. Not scribbling furiously. Something about him was so measured and contained. Some things about him weren't.

A bit further away, Harry was scribbling furiously. He still wanted to be an auror, and this exam was a barrier he needed to get past.

The bell chided and Draco looked over at her, giving that small uptick of his chin in acknowledgement, then he got up and left as the murmur in the hall exploded. Draco still didn't like crowds.

So this was it. It was all done. Hogwarts was finished. How was it that the end seemed to have snuck up on her? Day by day, it had drawn closer, but it still felt like a surprise. It also felt like it could be much worse of a shock, because an important part of her life wasn't changing, was stable through this transition.

"How'd it go for you?" Harry asked as she reached the corridor outside.

"Alright, you?"

"There were some hard questions. The one about alternative uses for bezoars threw me. It's so powerful in what it should be used for, who even thinks of alternative uses?"

The old her probably would have talked about it, but instead she noticed the harsh glare from Ron as he walked past.

"He'll take some time to come around," Harry said.

"Yeah, I don't think he will come around," Hermione replied with a smile. Ron wouldn't get over this. It was downright betrayal in his book. You just weren't allowed to hate someone for years on end, and then change your mind. Certainly not will Malfoy, who was still enemy number one in Ron's book. And along with Ron went the Weasleys. In many ways support network, but they naturally went with Ron in the divorce. "How's Ginny?"

"Nervous."

Hermione wanted to ask how their relationship was, but it was prying a little too much, and she appreciated that Harry didn't pry into her own.

"There's drinks in the Gryffindor common room tonight. Last night in the common room," he said with a smile. "I can't believe we leave tomorrow. It's strange it's all over. It's been such a large part of our lives."

"Yeah." About the drinks, she wasn't sure she should come. At least not with Draco. Most would be cordial with him, but it would kind of be rubbing salt in Ron's wound. And truthfully, the others wouldn't perhaps be as comfortable and relaxed with Draco around. And frankly, she didn't entirely trust Draco either. He seemed to accumulate injuries when there were other people around. "I'd better go. I'll see you later."

Harry looked like he wanted to say something more, but Hermione wasn't in the mood to talk about the likely uncomfortable topic Harry would bring up. Neither did she want to fall to pieces over leaving Hogwarts either. This was just something she wanted to get through. Maybe even scarier was wondering what was on the other side of tomorrow—when they were no longer Hogwarts students. What then?

In some ways, nothing would change. They were all still friends, with the exception of Ron in most regards, and Draco would be with her. But it was still a substantial change, and she feared change. She feared the peace she'd found would be threatened. She feared the changes would be too much for her to cope with after just finding a new equilibrium.

Students were chattering everywhere. There were no classes left to run to, no schedule to keep. It was all over. Some of the younger students were boisterous and showing off for their friends. Some would likely sneak some alcohol they'd squirreled away, after having snuck it from home or from someone older.

Some of the older girls were visibly pregnant, and it still looked wrong for the setting. Hermione wasn't sure exactly how Ginny and Harry had managed it, but Ginny was still too fragile for something so monumental. Although better than before, she couldn't handle the changes required. She'd make a good mother when the time was right. Being a mother was still something Hermione couldn't think about. Draco was quite open to the idea, though, which was surprising.

Draco was in the bedroom when she got back, packing things into his trunk. It occurred to her that they were leaving this little flat behind too. It was as though she needed to manually fit all these pieces of loss together in her head. "I suppose they will get rid of all these small flats now."

"They won't need them anymore," Draco said. "Unless they are planning to do the same thing next year."

"I don't think so. Because we were a year older, we were technically adults. Except they dictated to us like children, about very adult topics. I don't think they'll get away with doing it again. And they'll want to review the results." The Ministry did very little without ample analysis and debates. They would be talking about this initiative for quite a while.

"Maybe they'll loosen the rules on fraternising after curfew. Might work a treat."

"Could you imagine the Slytherins and Gryffindors were roaming the castle at night? It would be all-out war before long."

"That would have been fun, wouldn't it?" Draco said wistfully.

"No, it would have been awful."

"Afraid what I would have done to you?" he said with a sly smile. It still gave her shivers when he smiled like that.

"This is exactly the reason curfew exists. No one wants mayhem in the halls of Hogwarts."

"I suspect it will be mayhem tonight."

"Speaking of, the Gryffindors are having a party in the common room."

"Have fun," Draco said dismissively.

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, technically, as much as I'd like to see to some people, I can't have any fun until I leave school grounds. But I think I might leave a legacy for future generations, which may involve hexing some objects around the castle. Leave the castle with some perils for the unwary. The Curse of the Carrows."

"Oh wonderful. Just what the school needs. Well, in that case I might get pleasantly inebriated with the Gryffindors."

"And I will absolutely not do anything to you when you get back. Happy drinking," he said sweetly.

She wasn't sure if that was putting a damper on the evening or not. Draco was clearly in a mischievous mood, which in all serious was quite nice to see again. Maybe she wouldn't stay out too late.

"Rise and shine," Draco stated. "You need a shower."

"What?" Hermione mumbled, trying to get her mind in order. It pounded.

"You're all sticky, and you look an absolute fright."

There had been honey involved last night, she vaguely recalled.

Draco was dressed in his typical black suit, his hair neatly combed. "The ceremony and breakfast is about to start. If you want to be there for it, you'd better get a move on."

"Uhm," she moaned and wanted desperately to close her eyes again, instead trying to get her eyes to work properly. The bed was an absolute mess, and she was kind of surprised Draco could have tolerated it. Not just honey, but chocolate too. But all evidence was cleaned away from him. "Fine," she said and got up, before stumbling to the shower. Memories of kissing him last night fleeted into her mind. Honey and mess, and total abandon. Draco continued to surprise her, and made her surprise herself.

It took some time to get clean, but she finished her shower and got out. Draco wasn't there, but the bed was utterly clean, all evidence wiped away. In her trunk, her uniform was neatly packed away. She'd never wear it again. A wave of sadness hit her. It was really over. This was it. They were leaving shortly.

One foot in front of the other. At times it was easier to just do and not think about the implications. Dress, eat, get ready. She hadn't lost anything. All the laughing and crying last night, and drunken promises that they would all be friends forever, and meet every week at the Leaky Cauldron. Ron hadn't spoken to her, but she wasn't surprised.

And by the look of it, his marriage wasn't lasting through the summer. May not last through the day. She could imagine he'd put more effort into his drinking. Apparently he was going to stop now that school was over, or so Harry had told her.

Last breakfast in the Great Hall. It was packed with students, the teachers all looking tidy at their table. Harry and Ginny were at the Gryffindor table, watching as Professor McGonagall spoke about how bright the future was after such darkness. The school would go on, but some students would not be coming back, would instead head out into the world. She also mentioned that some students would never get the chance.

It was hard to listen to McGonagall's speech. It was definitely challenging her promise not to fall to pieces and just get through the day. Harder when someone pointed out how monumental this change was. Mercifully, her speech finished, and she was replaced by Shacklebolt, who walked about the importance of rebuilding and of supporting their unique community.

"You alright?" Draco asked as the speeches finished.

"Just feeling a little overwhelmed."

Her stomach was a little uneasy, but she ate anyway. Truthfully, she wasn't sure where her next meal would come from. They were heading to her house in London, but there would be no food in cupboards. In fact, she wasn't even sure there was furniture. If nothing else, they could stay with Harry, but Draco wouldn't be wild about it.

And then the food was gone and it really was time to go. There wasn't any point going back to the flat. Their trunks would have been removed already, just like they now had to remove themselves.

"Seventh and eight years to the lake please," McGonagall said. That was right. They had to leave the same way they'd come, across the lake. Again, Hermione felt tears sting her eyes. She didn't want to cry as they slowly walked out of the castle. Likely she would be back here again at some point. She could even be a teacher if she chose to, not that it was something she was considering right now.

The mood was subdued down by the lake. Some students were excited, and few of the girls were gently rubbing their bellies. "It's almost embarrassing how effective the Ministry's marriage law was."

"You put teenagers in a room for long enough, it's bound to happen," Draco said. "Some have resisted. Pansy is definitely holding out for a better husband."

Hermione looked over, seeing Pansy form-fitting silk robes, looking very adult. The girl looked bored and eager to get away.

The boats slowly arrived across the lake, turning until their rears were pushed onto the shore, and students starting getting in.

"I remember these being much larger," Dean said with a laugh. It was a couple per boat, generally. Draco got in theirs first, then held his hand out for her. It bobbed a little until she sat down and watched as the castle retreated behind them as they silently glid across the lake toward the train station.

The subdued mood continued throughout the journey, especially for the older students, who were both sad, nostalgic and hung over. The younger students were just excited for their summer plans. They ended up sitting with Luna and Ernie. It was hard to tell what the state of their marriage was. Hermione didn't know if it was a good match. Luna was so unique, it may not suit someone who was more of a conformist. Her belly didn't look like it was swelling. But Hermione was tired of thinking of other people's relationships. They could sort their own business out.

"I won't miss these train rides," Draco said.

"I've never minded them," she replied. "Except when the dementors came. That experience I could do without."

All these last experiences they were currently having were getting to her and she shook the moroseness off her, in a way, wanting this to be over. She wanted to look forward, not back. "What are your plans for the summer, Ernie?"

"I'm going to work with my father. Luna is going to see her father. We're going our separate ways for a while."

"Right," she said and wished she hadn't asked.

"What about you?"

"We're going to stay in London for a bit," she answered and an awkward silence descended.

"Are you staying with Harry?" Luna asked.

"No, I have a house. It was my parents'."

"Harry says he'll renovate his house," Luna continued. Hermione hadn't even thought about it, but that would make sense. It was a dark house. "Has to be careful not to disturb the spirit of the house. I always find it's better to ask the house first if you can."

"Renovate quite a lot of houses, do you?" Draco asked.

"I've helped rebuilt a few. They're very grateful. Houses don't like to be injured."

Sometimes, Hermione just didn't know what to say when Luna spoke. Silence descended.

"I would always establish where you were on the train," Draco said quietly in her ear. "At the end of the summer, I would always see what you looked like, how you'd changed."

"I tended to avoid you," she whispered back.

"Admit you were also a bit curious. Fascinated."

Hermione bit her lips together. What was it he wanted to hear from her? "Fine. I always watched out for you before anyone else." The answer pleased him. "Now I am going to sleep." The hangover wasn't as bad as she'd thought. It was more tiredness that was plaguing her. She hadn't had enough sleep, and neither had he. "Sleep," she repeated, and they quieted down for the rest of the journey.

King's Cross finally pulled into view, and some were out before the train had properly stopped, rushing to see their parents or to say goodbye to their friends, some left right away with their parents. The Weasley were there, of course, kissing and fussing like they had when welcoming them back every single year. Nothing changed with them. Arthur nodded to her and shook Draco's hand when they got closer.

"You're welcome come for supper one night," Molly said, but Hermione could see a tense wariness in her.

"Of course. We might be traveling for a while."

"Oh, you plan to travel? How wonderful. Now, let's get home. Everyone is waiting. You are, of course, welcome to join us, Hermione, and Draco."

"Thank you, but I think we have to see to the state of the house."

Harry looked back at her before he walked through the barrier. "You know where to find me," he said before disappearing with the others.

Besides the odd straggler, they were the only people left. Hermione busied herself levitating their trunks into her amazing purse. She could do all the magic she wanted now, within reason. They were officially adults.

"Well, let's go see this shoebox," Draco said and walked towards the barrier. "We could always go back to Morocco. As I said, I don't think my parents even remember it."

"We could. It's an option," she said and felt the curious sensation of walking through the barrier into muggle London, where an announcer was just calling all passengers for the train to Leeds. A crowd of people were moving along the platform toward the exit. The bright lights of the shops, the wafts of music, and smells. There was always something exciting about arriving back in muggle London. It was like arriving in another country. Newspaper displays of politicians and sex scandals. Muggle London had an energy she hadn't found anywhere else.

At the entrance to King's Cross, she paused for a moment and Draco looked at her questioningly. She treated her fingers through his.

"We hold hands now?" he asked.

"Just this once. It's a big day. It's just us now."

"Good," he said and looked over at the taxi cue. "Got any pounds?"

"I can pay with my bankcard."

"I forgot about those card things. They're quite useful. Do I get one?"

"Yes. We'll get you one tomorrow." Perhaps she would leave the lecture on how sparing they needed to treat them until then. Frugality, at least until they had income flowing. In the short term, she would get a job of some sort and he would write his memoirs.

"Let's go," he said, urging her toward the first black taxi.

The End

A/N Well there is the end. Hogwarts is done. I know, it doesn't answer everything. Now, I don't have a HP story lined up, so I will be taking a break until another has formed. They always do before too long. But if you'll miss me, I am putting one of my box sets up for free on Amazon for the next five days. Three full length books to keep you going for a while. It's called Marbella Coast, under my Shel Stone pen name. Grab a copy if you want. Otherwise, until next time.


End file.
